


The Nature of the Beast

by Sanguinary_Tide



Series: Blood Ties-verse [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Eventual Relationships, F/M, TYL, Violent Deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7465575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanguinary_Tide/pseuds/Sanguinary_Tide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunted over miles and driven to his lowest state yet, Hibari finds himself dependent on an unlikely and largely unwilling associate. By the end of their cohabitation, Hibari may find himself turning on his supposed savior...if she doesn't beat him to it. Still, their relationship seems to be going pretty well considering it began with a shotgun to the face, wolves at his ears, and scavengers at his heels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Off the Beaten Path

 

 

** The Nature of the Beast **

 

**_Prologue: Off the Beaten Path_ **

 

His dress shoes clopped and drug across the tar paved road like thudding sand paper. The spattering of blood was lost in the torrent of rain that washed down the empty stretch of road. He mused to himself with a smirk; the weather was covering for him. His eyes narrowed at the thought and he grimaced. He needed cover. He stopped his slow pacing as every instinct in his body cried for him to turn and face his pursuers. His hands twitched as they sought his weapons, but as he began to straighten his back, he was suddenly hunched over. A silent hiss slid out between his snarling lips. Heaving labored breaths, he straightened slowly and continued to trudge on.  
He could turn and wait. Wait for the scavengers to come and finish him off. He’d kill most of them. He knew. But, there would always be that one. No matter what scenarios he could put together, in each one, Hibari Kyoya would die. He’d never been a strategist; he’d never needed to be one. If there was a problem, he’d simply tear into it until the only thing it could do was die. He preferred to leave the planning to others. Of course, Kyoya never took part in any planning whatsoever. Let the herbivores crowd each other for safety. He mentally snorted at the imagery. He didn’t care what they did, so long as his enemies; the interlopers, the rule breakers, the pests--so long as they all paid in blood, he couldn’t care less what the herbivores did.  
…and look where that kind of thinking got him. He clenched his fist. The rain was beginning to slow and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the scavengers picked up his trail again. He stared ahead, the empty plains ended soon-a forest springing up in its wake. He picked up his pace.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He was running. Wet branches slapping and tearing at him, slicing into the few remaining unscathed bits of Armani and flesh, water logged twigs and foliage squishing beneath his feet, a sudden squelch every so often. He was noisy and in far too much pain to continue. A shot rang out and years of experience were the only thing that saved him as he snapped his head to the left. The bullet streaked across his cheek and embedded itself into a tree. His agitation grew. He would continue regardless of what his body thought.  
He could hear them behind him, calling to each other--a few rookies laughing as though catching him would be no easier than catching a cold. He could hear their superiors snapping at them because they knew better. Hibari Kyoya was no easy catch and by all means, they should be the ones fleeing from him. The urge to stand his ground came back with a vengeance, but the former prefect shoved it away. He had no intention of dying--not at the hands of scavengers. He would make them pay in due time, but for now he had to recuperate and the thought disgusted him. He was weak--too weak to take out a pack of pathetic scavengers.  
Again the urge surfaced, only to be quickly extinguished as his footing slipped and he landed harshly on uneven ground, the action jolting his broken ribs. The pained grunt that followed was heard by his pursuers. “Over there!”  
He scowled and kept moving. Despite his being out of sight, it was no surprise they could still hear him crashing-or rather sloshing through the wet forest. His current condition weighed down on him heavily, affecting more than just his body, but his mind. He knew that, normally, a few broken ribs and gun shots would barely slow him, but today was not a normal day. Today was the fourth day of his injuries and the fifth day since the incident. His body was falling apart. He’d survived this long with little to no-medical care just on sheer will and the remaining power of his flames. He was starved and his body exhausted.  
He could attempt to fight, but he was slow. His injuries had worn down his strength and endurance. A direct confrontation would be the death of him, so he did what was necessary for him to survive--what was necessary to pay back the wretched herbivore that would dare put a hit out on him.  
Despite the soaked forest, the rain had ended hours ago, the dark night sky was brightened by a full moon and Kyoya cursed its appearance for it made him all the easier to find. Yet there was a glint under the moon’s light that kept making itself known to the corner of his gaze. It wasn’t his pursuers, that he knew; he could hear them traipsing behind him. So, he slowed. The persistent glimmer would not be ignored. Steel--a wire fence, ten feet high and bordered by spirals of barbed wire ran parallel to his chosen path. Now that he’d noticed it, he could see that it ran on for several yards, perhaps further. He was hesitant to the idea emerging in his mind, but whatever hesitation he’d felt was quickly erased by the black, white, and red sign that clearly stated the words: NO TRESPASSING.  
He couldn’t make the climb, not in his state. Even if he somehow made it over the barbed wire, he’d be far too noisy. They’d find him quickly. He’d have to get over the fence without touching it. His eyes narrowed in agitation. Clenching his jaw, he picked up his pace, running as fast as his wounded body could manage. Dredging up what little remained of his strength, he lunged forward with a leap, the balls of his feet meeting and shoving off a tree five feet up, and then, with another shove, he hurtled himself over the fence. He fell gracelessly, the wind smacked from his body as it met the ground. It took everything he had to stay silent as the hillside, laden with rain water, slid beneath him and sent him tumbling with it.  
He didn’t fall long, but the pain he felt with every rough tumble and spin made the time stretch onward. When his body finally came to a stop, he left it that way. He forced his lungs to expand against broken ribs. He was silent beneath the towering tree’s canopies, listening as the scavengers called to each other. They were still searching for him. He listened for what seemed like hours. After a stretch of time filled only by his contemplation, he made to stand. He made it two feet before his body collapsed beneath him and darkness took him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sun stung his heavy-lidded eyes and he tried and failed to block out the loud chirping as birds chattered back and forth. There was an unfamiliar sound as well: panting. A whine came next, he shifted in response and the sound that followed suggested his movements were ill advised. The snarl that tore through the air found him locking his stare with the golden gaze of a wolf. It was large and impressive. It’s lips pulled back taut against cruel white fangs, covered in gray fur that was dappled with shades of white and black. He could hear the others—their paws shifting on the forest debris.  
There was a sudden flick of the beast’s ears and a new sound entered the clearing. It was an odd metallic-like shuttle sound that vaguely reminded him of a rattle. It was a sound that he was-irritably- familiar with. He rolled his head forward and found himself face to face with twin black depths; the barrel of a shot gun. He lifted his gaze and followed the barrel back down to its handle. It was a woman of tan complexion, her grip on the weapon was sure and familiar, and the way her grey eyes glared down at him in undisguised annoyance assured him that she had no problem pulling the trigger.

Her voice cut through his inspection. “You look a little lost.”


	2. Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of Kyoya's plummet..

 

** The Nature of the Beast **

****

**_Chapter 1: Vegas_ **

 

_5 Days Prior_

****

                If there was one thing Hibari Kyoya hated more than herbivores, it was a crowd of them. And much to his ire, Las Vegas, Nevada was swamped with them. He’d managed to avoid the crowded touristy streets via the discreet use of a cab. Unfortunately, his mark was located in one of the most crowded of places—a casino.

                His steel blue eyes narrowed dangerously as they swept over the crowded carpets of the Casino-Hotel. They were everywhere, toiling away at the slots, throwing away their lives’ savings at tables, and swarming the bar in herds— _herbivores._ He felt his agitation rise to a level of near suffocation, but regardless, he bore it, for, in just a few minutes, he’d have the perfect target for his frustrations.

                With ease he navigated from the gilded entranceway, across the sanguine red carpet, into the marbled halls, and onto a meticulously shined gold elevator. It remains to be seen if this was because he was just that good or because the crowd instinctively knew to move out of the former prefect’s way. Yet, despite Kyoya’s ease of navigating the casino’s lobby, he found himself sharing the elevator space with an unwelcome guest. The herbivore had settled into a corner after meeting his gaze and seemed determined to stay there. Normally, he would gladly ignore such a man, but the herbivore reeked of fear and it only provoked his urge to attack.

                So, when the elevator opened up on the fifth floor—with no one waiting outside the doors—Kyoya turned a cutting glare at the balding man and suddenly, as though, awoken from a trance, the herbivore quickly scuttled past and into the hall. As the elevator doors sealed themselves and the ascent continued, Kyoya was unsurprised to notice that the stench of terror still lingered. Normally, he would find himself agitated by the man’s weakness, but now, when he was on the brink of what was likely a fight—no matter how pitiful the challenge—he reveled in it. So, this time when the elevator opened up on the twelfth floor, he stepped off the contraption, with his hands tucked nonchalantly in his pockets and a devilish smirk on his face.

                There were only a few doors on the establishment’s top floor, but Kyoya wasn’t counting doors. Instead, he simply turned and walked to his right, ignoring the emerald carpet and gaudy Egyptian themed wallpaper. His attention was held by a set of double doors, guarded by two rather large, surprisingly fit men decked all in black. They eyed him suspiciously, sharing a glance as he continued to approach.

                The guard on his left, a dark skinned man who kept his head cleanly shaven and his facial hair immaculately groomed, spoke in a diplomatic tone. “Sir, you don’t have clearance to be up here. Why don’t you go back down to the lobby and play a few of the games.” 

                “Games?” Kyoya asked, removing his hands from his pockets. His smirk widening into a grin as the two tensed at his motions. “I have no interest in games aside from my current one.”  

                “Wha-” The guards question was silenced by metal ‘shlink’ of Hibari’s tonfas telescoping into their full size. He gave them no time to ponder their scenario and lunged.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                On the other side of the doors, several workers stilled in their tasks; their wide eyes lingering upon the doors from which came the unmistakable sounds of violence and suffering. A few even cringed at the heavy thud of blunt force and breathless grunts. There was a click as the latch was released and the door swung inward. Their tense silence dissipated into confusion as an Asian man stepped in. He was moderately tall and despite his pale skin and shaggy hair, well groomed in a dark Armani suit and violet dress shirt, accented by an equally dark tie. He wore his suit perfectly and it gave no sign of the assumed violence that took place moments before. It wasn’t until a curious worker let his gaze land behind the stranger and onto the dark bald head of a familiar guard that chaos erupted. Alarm widened the clerk’s eyes as he lifted his stare and met the chilling gaze of the Asian man.  Even in his panicked haze, he would remember the fleeting feeling of confusion as the man seemed to smile (or perhaps it was more of a smirk) when he hoarsely cried out, “Security!”

                That would, of course, be the last of his recollection as he was quickly silenced by a blow to the head courtesy of an accurate tonfa strike. No sooner had the man’s head slapped his desk and his body slumped to the floor, that the metallic clacking of armed guards echoed in the vacant halls. He said nothing when clerks abandoned their paperwork and cash covered desks for the door; he was far more interested in his opposition.

Hibari’s grin turned lethal, “Herbivores…”he said, and his gaze flicked to the emerald carpet once as he tested his grip on his tonfas, “…always so eager to crowd.” He sprung forward, and the sound of gunfire overcame all others.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                He didn’t open the door politely this time around. No, he supposed it could be considered rude when he sent the armed man through the door. The guard sending an uncontrolled volley of bullets into the air and through walls and fellow guards alike as his finger still squeezed tight against the trigger in shock. Kyoya side stepped the spray and was unfazed by the metal hail that missed him by mere centimeters.  A few final thwacks and pained grunts later and he stepped through his newly made doorway, only to frown.

                Something was _wrong._ He wasn’t quite sure _what_ was wrong at first, his expression falling into neutral as he glanced over the five body guards casually reclining around the office in leather easy chairs or slumped against beige walls with not a care in the world. And more annoyingly, his target slouched over his desk, chin resting on interlaced fingers with the smuggest grin the world had ever seen plastered on his face. Just what exactly was wrong with this picture?

                As the realization occurred to him, however, he became aware of the growing crowd behind him. He slid a glance from his peripheral vision to the massive grouping of armed guards. “Kyoya Hibari.”

                His eyes returned to the man who was supposed to have been his target and his suspicions were confirmed. “We’ve been expecting you.”

                “Ah, I’ve noticed.” He closed his eyes briefly.  “Have you made preparations, herbivore?”

                The man behind the desk laughed, his lank dark hair shifting over his face in the process, “For what you Jap bastard?”

                He was irritated…and it was beginning to show. The man’s laughter quieted as a violet flame lit the Cloud ring. Then, he smiled and it was nothing if not terrifying. “Your death, of course.”

                Whatever smug satisfaction the ‘target’ had been feeling before was ripped from him as he yelled out, “Don’t just stand there! Kill him!”

                Kyoya spoke only once more. “Kamikorosu.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX          

 

                It wasn’t even a full thirty seconds into the fight and already Krieger was beginning to wilt in his seat. The rumors were true; Hibari Kyoya was a demon. He’d seen his fair share of demons—his train of thought paused as he flinched away when a man was sent flying over his desk-, this man—this beast, was in a different category all his own. Hibari wasn’t fighting off his men, no, he was swatting them. Like flies! Panic entered his mind and nothing else mattered, but getting out alive…after all, somebody had to pass on the message. Hibari Kyoya would not be defeated here.

                His resolution set, he leapt from his chair, quickly stepping over fallen men and made for the side door. He didn’t make it quite that far.

                “Scurrying rodent.”

                He was chilled by the monotone voice, laced with a hint of amusement. He fumbled for his nine millimeter, but it was pointless. No sooner had his fingers wrapped around the weapon had the steel rod of a tonfa been pulled across his throat. He gagged as he was flung back to the other side of the room. He was knocked breathless as his back slammed into the wall.

                He was faint and struggling to breath. Barely keeping his eyes open—although he wasn’t sure he wanted to, really—he watched his men get tossed around the room like rag dolls and swatted away like annoying insects. Krieger supposed he should be grateful the office was windowless…this was the twelfth floor, after all. Wincing at the thought, he took another glance at the alternative and with a determined face, he struggled to his knees. On all fours, he crept around strewn bodies and armaments, quickly dodging flying bodies _. Almost there. Just a little bit fur-_

His thoughts halted as he was flattened to the floor, a foot planted securely between his shoulder blades. “Where are you going, rat?”

                All around him were motionless bodies. The room was no longer active, rather it was quite inactive. He eyed blood that stained the carpet. A sudden fear seized him as he realized that only _he_ was conscious. He was so frightened he didn’t even realize his current captor was speaking.

                Hibari frowned as he was forced to repeat himself. He lifted his foot from the herbivore’s back and set it on the ground, only to shove it into the man’s ribs. With a sharp gasp, the man rolled onto his back clutching his side. “Two of the other rats fled. Where did they go?”

                A sort of defiant stare entered Krieger’s eyes. “Or what? You’ll beat me? Kill me?”

                “No.”

                There was sudden motion as Hibari lifted his tonfas again and Krieger’s eyes grew wide. “I was going to do that anyway.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                He took the stairs. A quick glance over his suit for blood stains—there were none, that could be seen, at least—and he reentered the lobby and left the casino at his usual pace. Stepping back out onto paved sidewalks littered with palm trees, gaudy neon signs, flashing lights, and tourists alike, Hibari was once again forced to remember that he did indeed _hate_ Las Vegas.  He was thankful, it was still day—the night would be far worse. He hailed a taxi and the cab driver pulled over quickly—he was dressed sharply and the driver had his heart set on a nice tip.

                “Where to, man?” The cab driver asked over his shoulder and Hibari purposely ignored the familiar choice of words. Instead, he gave him the address to a district of warehouses just outside of Vegas.

                The cabbie raised an eyebrow at the address, gave his well-dressed clientele another look from his rear view mirror, and pulled away from the curb—he needed the money.

                The drive was silent as Hibari was in no mood to talk. The attempt at conversation had ended rather sharply after the driver had asked what kind of work he did and the Disciplinary Committee head responded with a pointed glare. For the duration of the ride, Hibari had directed his glare at the repetitive scenery of empty desert.

                “Hey… we’re here.” The cab driver called hesitantly as he drove onto the newly paved lot.

                Kyoya was silent, but his gaze was now directed at the new surroundings as the cab slowed in front of a warehouse that was no different from any others aside from the bold printing of numbers on its side.

                “That’s $75.” The cab driver called out, stretching an arm back as he looked to his backseat, only to do a double take as his fare had already exited the cab. “Hey! You can’t jus-”

                He was silenced as Kyoya turned an annoyed glare at him. “Wait here.”

                On the outside there was nothing particularly special about the warehouse. Nothing that would give away it’s secret, but the inside was a different story. There was quite a bit of weaponry—mostly guns, nothing too advanced, but it was the sheer number that made him pause. And it was not because Kyoya was intimidated, not at all. Rather, it was that Kyoya was struck by the stupidity of weaklings.

There were, perhaps, fifty men in total loitering around the room, many of them wearing smug grins. There was even one of rats from the casino huddled in the corner clutching his swollen jaw. What Kyoya found stupid, however, was the fact that the weapons far outnumbered the prey. Even if they all used two weapons—one for each hand—there would still be a mass over supply. So what was the point?

He snorted. _Herbivores._

                “Dats ‘em!” A nasally voice called out from his left and he took in a man whose nose had seen far better days and whose chin was still covered in drying blood. _The other rat_ , Hibari mused.

                There was a metal screech as the doors shut behind him. “You’re not going anywhere, Vongola bastard.”

                _Vongola?_ His gaze narrowed on the one who dared speak such slander. _Always, he was associated with that pack of powered Herbivores._ His agitation was growing again. “I don’t intend to run.” He released his flame compatible tonfas from their box. There came an uneasy look in the eyes of his prey, but they were still entirely too smug. He took a step forward and he paused at the click. He looked down at his feet. _A land mine._

                _Well, perhaps, they weren’t quite as stupid as he first thought._ He smirked, amused.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

**_10 Minutes later_ **

****

                Back outside the cab driver was in a panic. He’d watched the Asian man go into the warehouse, a minute later the door was slammed shut, and not even a minute later, there was an explosion. He’d have peeled off then and there had that been the last of the disturbances, but they were just the beginning. He’d flinched and tore off his seatbelt, ducking into his seat when the sounds of bullet hales thundered through the air. He prayed to god and whoever else would listen when explosions began to rock the district.

                There was never a quiet moment, for when the explosions would stop and the gunfire would pause, the sounds of blunt force trauma echoed from within and he cringed at the cries of pain. He wanted to hop back in his seat and floor the gas pedal—really, he did. However, every time the thought crossed his mind, he’d be suddenly remember the cutting glare his client had sent him and he felt compelled to stay right where he was.

                So when the area suddenly quieted, he peeked a glance over his door. He saw nothing unusual and that made him sit back up in his seat. As he did, the warehouse door opened. He flinched for a moment, thinking it wasn’t his client, but someone who may have killed him, but no, it was the same Asian man. Still looking unruffled for the most part, although his clothes were a bit skewed, they showed no damage. So it was really no surprise when the cab driver began to question his sanity.

                He would have continued if not for the next sounds. There was a strange screeching sound and he pulled his gaze from the man walking towards the cab, and sent it back towards the warehouse. The building screeched again as he began to recognize the sound as metal buckling under pressure. And then there were the sudden screams that ended nearly as quickly as they began. The driver stared, his attention wholly ensnared by the happenings inside the warehouse. Then suddenly, the metal could take no more and there was an explosion of force and the driver stared at what had to be one of the weirdest of sights.

                It was a ball—a purple ball—of silver spikes and it was humongous. The thing  was bigger than a three-story warehouse. At first it was just the oddity of the situation that held his stare, but as he continued to study the shape, his attention was held by something far more morbid: the bodies. There were several bodies skewered on the ball’s spikes, he tried not to notice what had to be blood streaming down the glistening protrusions and he shuddered to think of those that might be pinned beneath it.

                “Oi.”

                He jumped at the voice. _When had he gotten back in the cab?_

                “I’m tired of being here.” And as if to prove the statement, Hibari let out a mild yawn, lazily shielded by his hand. “Take me to the private air strip.”

                “Uh... uhm… yes sir.” The now scarred for life cab driver pulled a U-turn and drove out the lot. On the way out, he chanced a glance back from his mirror and was stunned to still see the ruined warehouse, yet there was no trace of the giant ball of spikes. Blinking away his shock, he vowed to lay off the weed… at least for a little while. He failed to notice the purple box being tucked away in his client’s jacket.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                Hibari had been fair in his tip, giving the driver 20% on top of his regular fare. It seemed the moment the money was handed over, the cab driver had nearly ran him over, burning rubber as he hurried to get out of the gated area. Hibari had glared after him and it only seemed to make the herbivore flee faster.  Still, he was tired, and he yawned again as he turned to board the private jet.

                The jet was new, customized to his orders, the interior faintly resembling his committee room from Namimori Middle. It was run on a skeleton crew; he had no desire to be crowded in a small room of metal thousands of feet in the air. Still, he—barely—acknowledged the attendant at the jet’s doors and sat in his chair of choice while the woman immediately began to prepare his tea.

                “The captain says we’ll be ready for takeoff in just a few minutes. Enjoy.” She set the tea pot and ceramic cup in front of him and quickly made herself scarce.

                He was just beginning to enjoy his tea when an annoyance made itself known. “Sir, we have a problem. They’re not letting us takeoff.”

                Lifting his gaze from his tea with an agitated look in his eyes, he asked, “Oh?”

                “Sir!” The excited cry came from the attendant and her gaze was entirely focused out the windows.

                Narrowing his eyes, he followed her gaze. Black SUVS, five of them, driving across the desert at full speed, more than likely heading towards his current location. “Take off anyway.” He couldn’t care less what they said he could or couldn’t do.

                “Sir!” _The woman was persistent._ Still, he chanced another look to the window and was forced to pause at the sight. The detail was unclear from this distance, but the shape was nearly undeniable. _A rocket launcher?_

                His question was answered quite suddenly as the missile hurdled at rapid speed towards the aircraft.


	3. The Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Persistence is an admirable trait in some, an annoyance in others.

** The Nature of the Beast **

****

**_Chapter Two: The Desert_ **

****

                He was still seated when the SUVS braked in a semi-circle around the destroyed air strip. With cautious glances, the mercenaries dressed in the uniform black suits and ties, exited the vehicles and approached the smoldering ruins. They’d all seen the glint of silver spikes against a wall of purple as the explosion rent the air craft into pieces. In fact, they were expecting. Upon being hired they’d all received a rather thick file on Hibari Kyoya and most had studied well on his offensive and defensive capabilities. So the spiked purple sphere keeping him from harm was nothing unheard of. What gave them pause was his lack of action. They were all familiar with his brutal feats of swift violence and they’d all seen the numerous pages of his victim list. The man was a violent beast and that’s what they expected. They were not, however, expecting him to simply sit there.

Yet that was exactly what he did. His cushioned blue armchair once several feet in the air and bolted to the floor was now sitting unevenly on a pile of warped and twisted metal—and possibly a landing wheel—courtesy of Roll’s defensive sphere, not to mention the missile that destroyed his jet.

                The gathering manifold of mercenaries tensed and reached for their weapons when after a long moment of absolute silence and a total lack of motion, Hibari stood. Over fifty weapons trained on him, yet Hibari showed no sign of noticing them, instead his attention seemed rather taken by an unseen object five feet to the left of him. His focus was so intently placed on the object that a few of the mercenaries began to relax. They should have fired on him at once, but they didn’t, some were too frightened that the beast would suddenly lunge— _newbies_ —others far too confident in their own prowess. The latter were the real problem, lowering their guards to sneak a comment to their neighbor. And it was one such mercenary who suffered an ill fate for it. He never saw it coming. The turbulent spiral of a high velocity hedgehog was completely overlooked by him. Even his comrades only caught the tail end of the violet trail of flame as the small, but insanely powerful creature collided into the man and continued to bulldoze him into the front end of his vehicle. The harsh metallic screech as the hood was crushed and bent inward coupled with the man’s sudden and rather violent end—blood dribbling over the grill’s chrome finish—caused many to flinch back in surprise. They hadn’t even seen him move!

                Frantically, they turned their gazes back to the flaming rubble, only to tighten their holds on their weapons. Hibari Kyoya was nowhere in sight. “He’s he-”

                The cry was silenced by a steel tonfa engulfed in violet flames. The men had watched only momentarily, as the weapon was viciously backhanded across the man’s face with a sickening jaw breaking crack. The sudden burst of crimson and porcelain white teeth spattering across the runway was all the signal they needed as every weapon in the vicinity was suddenly locked on him with lethal intent.

                He spoke with a deceivingly calm and even voice. “If any of you herbivores are even _considering_ the fantasy of leaving here alive…”Kyoya turned a predatory stare on them, one by one, “I suggest you come all at once.”

                They didn’t need to be told twice.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                The last body dropped at his feet, blood blooming across the man’s formerly white dress shirt—visual evidence that his cruelly broken ribs had pierced his flesh, but Hibari paid it no heed. His attention was held by the charred and cracked remains of what was once his favorite ceramic mug. His gaze narrowed as he looked back to the body at his feet. For a moment Kyoya wished he were still standing, if only to tear him down again, but it was impossible, so he stopped. Stepping away from the body, he re-stored his tonfas and adjusted his suit. He’d been particularly careful to avoid a visible blood stain and for the most part it had paid off—it was just coincidence that it gave him more of a reason to drag out their punishment.

                He swept a look of uninterested regard across the ruined airstrip and slipped a hand into his pocket, searching; It wasn’t there. He frowned then and with a suspicious glare, he turned back to look at the jet’s smoking wreckage. His jaw set in agitation, he returned to the place of his former seat and let his gaze roam over the nearby remains. A few moments later, his eyes stilled and he crouched down to brush a few crumbling pieces of furniture out of the way. Lifting the scorched and melted square from the ground, Kyoya’s glare turned frosty as he stared at the remains of his smartphone.

                He stood slowly, all the while his situation was becoming clear at a disturbingly fast pace. He was stranded in a private airstrip in the desert. The few employees manning the field had been killed shortly after the rocket had been fired at his jet. The building and remaining vehicles had been destroyed during the fight. He let the useless piece of hard plastic and metal fall from his grasp. He had no way of contacting anyone—of course he’d only be telling Tetsuya to clean up the mess and get him a new jet. Still, Hibari Kyoya found himself in new territory. He was stranded in the barren deserted wasteland known as Nevada.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                He’d double checked for some still operating form of transportation, but he’d found none. Which was why, nearly an hour later, Kyoya was walking down the very empty stretch of Nevada highway, the sun beaming  on his back, contrasted by the dark colors of his suit. His only relief from the sun’s blazing stare was the occasional passing of a shadow overhead. _That_ , however, only agitated Hibari more, for the shadow was not of a cloud, but that of a circling buzzard determined to keep pace with him.

                He’d been walking for what had to be three hours, he couldn’t be sure, he’d lost his Rolex to a badly aimed bullet—the memory of frightened herbivore firing  while fleeing simultaneously resurfaced in his mind—so he’d been forced to guess by the positioning of the sun overhead. The concentration of heat pressing overhead and swelling under his black jacket had been stifling. Now, it was slung over his left arm. He wasn’t even tired and yet he was sweating visibly in the harsh setting.

                The more annoying thing, however, was probably the rather noticeable lack of traffic. He’d been walking down the road for nearly _three hours_ and the sun was beginning its decline. He’d never been the scholarly type, but even he knew the desert grew rather cold at night, not something he’d want to spend an extended period of time in given his current condition. He was reminded of his state as he reached up to sweep the newly gathered perspiration from his brow, his now thoroughly damp hair clinging to his skin in curving shapes. _Yes,_ whereas Kyoya once believed himself to hate Las Vegas, he was now realizing that he hated all of Nevada, perhaps even the entire United States of America.

                He’d fallen so deep into his feeling of loathing for the barren empty stretch of land that he almost didn’t notice it: the vibrating buzz beneath his feet. However, it became increasingly noticeable and Kyoya stopped. He refused to be hopeful or even thankful for that matter; instead he just turned to look over his shoulder. A blue Dodge caravan was gradually making its way down the road and he narrowed his gaze at the blur, heat waves distorting the image. He didn’t wave or make any attempt to stop the vehicle, choosing to simply stare down the tinted windshield as they approached.

                Any person with a sense of suspicion probably would’ve kept driving under such an intense glare. Luckily, for him, Laura Maxwell was not such a person. Instead she pulled to a stop a few feet away from him, her passenger side window rolling down silently. “You okay, sweetie?” A riot of dark curls bouncing against copper colored skin as she leaned forward in her seat.

                He frowned at the pet name, but was unable to comment before she spoke again. “Car trouble?”

                It would be pointless for him to explain himself so he simply agreed, “yes.”

                She nodded, but frowned and glanced back down the road. “You know, I didn’t see any cars on the way up….”

                Deciding to continue on with this pathetic method of gaining the sympathy needed to achieve a ride, he nodded, “You wouldn’t. I left it at the air field.”

                “The air field?” The confusion on her face was easily read. “Wait. The private air field?” She stared at him incredulously.

                He stared at her, mildly wondering if she was so daft that she needed him to repeat what she herself had already said twice.

                At his lack of correction, her eyes widened as she turned in her seat. “But that’s like ten miles back!”

                “I noticed.” His reply was far drier than he.

                Immediately her gaze became sympathetic. “Oh you poor thing, get in. There’s a diner a few miles down the road. I can drop you there and you can use their phone.”

                He’d reached for the door handle at the clicking release of the lock, but paused at her statement. “You don’t have a cell phone?”

                Her expression quickly became meek. “Ah, it’s the damned desert. No service.”

                _Damned Desert, indeed._

                “Seatbelt!” She reminded him with a cheery tone as he settled himself in the blissfully A/C cooled minivan.

                As he heard the securing click of the belt, the woman turned a new question on him. “So the airfield didn’t have a phone?” Her tone was slightly disbelieving.

                “I’m sure they did.” He just barely kept himself from emphasizing the past tense. “However, no one was on shift and all the doors were locked.”

                “Oh wow. That’s terrible. Well,” she smiled brightly. “lucky for you, Cammy needed more diapers.”

                _Cammy?_ He blinked at the name and he soon realized that he was not alone in the vehicle with the woman. A glance into the rearview mirror and he was mildly surprised to see two children. The oldest, a child of perhaps four or five, her skin just as rich as her mother’s and her hair in braids had fallen asleep with her mouth open and was slumped to the side. He had frowned at the other child. Giving into the temptation, he risked a look behind him for a better glance. The toddler was strapped in her car seat as law required. Somewhat fairer than her sibling and mother, her hair a curly mess, a faint trace of drool at the corner of her miniature mouth, she was wide awake, her tiny body pushing against her restraints as much as they would allow. Her wide brown eyes were staring at Kyoya with such an intense look of concentration that he found himself turning away from her scrutiny.

                He had nothing against children, but he preferred not to interact with them at all, most lacked his ideal level of discipline. Not to mention, the few children he’d had frequent dealings with had stained his view of their capabilities. Thankfully, however, the child had been pleasantly silent the remainder of his trip. To be honest, he was more thankful that the woman hadn’t continued to pester him. So while, he wasn’t going to be missing baby Cammy and her helpful mother, he’d been in no hurry to leave the van when they’d pulled up into the gravel lot of the North Star diner.

                “Good luck, sweetie!” The woman called from the van as she put the vehicle in reverse and then, driving back out onto the road.

                He cringed inwardly at the pet name and had only nodded at her in reply.

                He stood in the gravel parking lot several moments longer than necessary, choosing to take in the pale blue paint and shiny metal plating of the ranch-styled diner. The lot was bigger than the diner itself, although given the many 18-wheelers parked to the side of the diner, it was to be expected. With a halfhearted sigh, he rolled his shoulders and shrugged his jacket back on. His hair, now mostly dry, was shoved from his forehead with a subconscious pass of the hand as he entered the building.

                Ignoring the immediate scrutiny he glanced at the clock on the restaurant’s back wall: it read 7:15. Which meant it was 12:15 in Japan, noon; Tetsuya was eating lunch. He had absolutely no problem interrupting him, but the thought reminded him of his own subtle hunger, so with a slight change in plans he decided to eat first. With an easy gait, he took a seat in an empty booth next to a view of the parking lot and empty road. No sooner had he sat down and reached for the menu had a waitress zeroed in on him. “What can I get you to drink?”

                He’d barely glanced at the menu.  His mind immediately thought back to his green tea, but he highly doubted they served it here and even if they did, it was even more doubtful that it would be prepared properly. “Water.”

                “All right, then,” she nodded. “I’ll be back with your water in a minute.”

                He ignored her as she left, opening the menu with a bored stare. He was well aware that what he wanted to eat was unlikely to be listed, so as he skimmed down the English menu, he searched for one thing.

                “Here you go.” She sat the frosted glass in front of him. “Now,” she took out her pen and pad. “Can I get you anything to eat, Hun?”

                He didn’t even react to the pet name this time around, instead he nodded. Closing the menu and handing it to the waitress, he stared up at her before giving her his order. “The Salisbury steak.”

                Taking his menu and putting it under an arm, she hurriedly jotted down his choice. “Salisbury steak. Got it! Anything else?”

                Dropping his gaze back to the table, he declined with a twist of his head. “No.”

                “All righty then!” She headed away from his table, a bit of perkiness in her step. Her heart was set on a nice tip.

 

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                He knew it when he ordered it, but with the aroma wafting up from his table, he _really_ knew it wasn’t what he wanted, but it would do. Salisbury steak, the closest thing to a hamburger steak he’d find in the U.S. mainland without making it himself. He was sure of it. Still, he was hungrier than he’d realized. But halfway through his meal, he was interrupted.

                “Hey. Sorry to intrude, but I’ve always wondered….”

                His steel blue gaze lifted from his plate to send a mild glare to the woman who’d spoken. She was seated in the booth in front of his and half turned in her seat to face him. She was fair-skinned with frizzy blonde hair pulled back into a quick pony tail, and her frame was tall and large boned. All in all, her face wasn’t unpleasant. He waited for her to continue her question.

                “Salisbury steak? I mean, that’s kind of like hamburger steak? From Japan, right? Or is it different?”

                He had narrowed his eyes at her in annoyance. Why was she wondering something so similar to his dilemma? His gaze flickered from her to his meal and back at her before giving her an answer. “Their formats are similar. However, the preparation methods differ, and so do their associated tastes, but they _are_ comparable.” His tone was informative and fell flat the moment he reached the end. He returned to his meal, content to simply ignore the woman.

 

                “Oh.” Her silence didn’t last long. “So I couldn’t help, but notice you were dropped off.”

                He said nothing, but gave her a baleful glare over his plate. It was just as well, she seemed not to notice it.

                “Do you have a ride? I can probably give you a lift, I’m heading up north…’less of course, you’re heading for Vegas. That’s out the way for me.”

                Because his glare proved ineffective on what he might just be another oblivious woman, he spoke up.  “It’s unlikely that your assistance will be required.”

                “Oh.” She looked down and away. “Well, all right then. If you change your mind, I’ll be leaving shortly.” She stood from the booth and left to pay her bill.

                Satisfied with the silence, Kyoya finished his meal, flagged the waitress down for his bill and headed towards an old pay phone in the back—he was in no mood to deal with the old crone standing over the phone near the register.

                Taking the phone off the hook, he checked the amount of change in his pocket. Not enough for an international call; he’d have to call collect. He’d only just finished dialing in the numbers, when he noticed something odd about the diners. It took him a moment to recognize it, but he did; _he was being watched._

                “Who’s calling?” the automated operator asked.

                “…Hibari Kyoya.” His eyes were focused on two men now. One was near the door and continuously tapping away at his phone. The other was ten feet away from him, one hand resting nervously on what appeared to be a bulging pocket, every so often sipping at a glass of iced tea—the same glass of iced tea he’d been drinking when Kyoya first arrived.

                “Moshi moshi.” Tetsuya’s voice came into the background, but Kyoya paid it no mind.

                “Hello? Kyo-san?” Tetsuya was answered by a click. Hibari had hung up.

                Walking out of the diner, he noticed the heavily tinted windows of the SUV at the end of the lot. It wasn’t there when he’d arrived, yet no one new had entered the diner. He was sorely tempted to reach for his weapons, but he knew better. He might be in the middle of nowhere, but there were far too many civilians in the way. He’d be labeled as some sort of terrorist if he started a battle here. However, just as he was pondering his next move, a glimpse of blonde hair to his right caught his attention.

                The annoying woman was climbing into the driver’s seat of an 18-wheeler. _A trucker._ Mentally, he snorted, but outwardly he moved in her direction. There was only one set of reinforcements, but the longer he waited, the more there would be. Furthermore, he was well aware of the fact that just because he was against causing a scene, didn’t mean they would be. Perhaps the woman was useful after all.

                She’d just started her beast of a vehicle when she noticed him standing directly in her path. With a grin, she rolled her window down and hollered out, “Need a ride?”

                He didn’t feel the need to answer and instead he simply walked around to the passenger side and climbed aboard.

 “Why the change of plans?” She asked as she drove the behemoth out onto the highway.

He was watching the diner in the side view mirror. His two observers had hurried out and were gesturing in his direction. Turning away, he shrugged. “Something came up.”

She nodded and didn’t press. “So where should I drop you off at?”

“The next city with a major airport.”

“Okay-”

He cut her off as he added with a thought, “Not in Nevada.”

She blinked, “Well, all right. Boise, Idaho it is.”

He nodded in acceptance of her words.

“That’s eleven hours from here, ya know?”

“That’s fine.”

“All right.” She gave him an amused look before switching on her music.

It wasn’t until the third song came on that Hibari realized why she had even known to ask him about hamburger steak. Removing his gaze from the window he spared the woman a glance watching her lips murmur what was likely badly pronounced Japanese lyrics. His eyes quickly darted around the space, now noting the few pieces of anime memorabilia that decorated the front seat area. There was even a miniature character figurine dangling from her keys. The real shocker, however, was the sight of her sleeping quarters. He’d received a glimpse into the back space when a particularly large pot hole had jarred the vehicle and bounced open the curtains. He stared. The walls were plastered with posters from various anime, everything from Gundam Wing to Sailor Moon. There were even posters of Japanese pop musicians, probably the same musicians playing through her speakers.

An _otaku_. She was obsessed. Suddenly, the thought of spending the next eleven hours with her didn’t seem so acceptable.

 

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                Despite his suspicions, the woman, Molly, she told him, was less problematic than he’d imagined her to be. There was, however, the issue of her frequently staring at him, especially when she thought him asleep. Her interest in him was somewhat worrisome, but still he took a few hours to nap and aside from a few agitating songs, he was relatively undisturbed. Everything was fine until the early morning rolled about.

Although no longer in Nevada, the stretch of road was still empty, especially at 3:58am. So the road block was rather odd and Molly said as much. Kyoya’s eyes snapped open before they quickly narrowed. Shifting himself away from the door—he’d done his best to put distance between her and himself—and upright in his seat, he took in the wooden signs and barred off stretch of road. He also took in the multitude of black cars hiding in the dark.

He frowned when she began slowing down. “If you stop, I can’t guarantee your safety.” His voice was resolute.

She blinked, unsure she’d heard him right. “What?”

“It’s not a legal road block.” He nodded to the vehicles parked on the roadside ahead. “Those men are trying to kill me. And while they’ll fail miserably, I have no intention of shielding you from them. More than likely they’ll try to get rid of any witnesses first.”

She stared at him with wide eyes. “Wh-wha…wait! What?” she cried.

“I don’t care if you stop or not, but if you value your own life, I suggest you keep going.”

They were about 600 feet away from the wooden gates when Molly made her decision; she floored the gas pedal. “This had better not be a joke!” She glared at him from the corner of her eye.

He snorted at her implied threat and smirked when several agents jumped out the way of the speeding behemoth as it crashed through the gates.

He’d been considering another nap, when they’d come across nothing else the next few miles, but something had caught his attention. There was something on the road. He’d frowned at it, trying to decipher what it was he was staring at. Molly had been oblivious to it, humming to some pop tune. It wasn’t until the metal hooks had clawed through the tires that she reacted to it, snatching the wheel in some attempt to control the careening truck as it swerved off the road. There was nothing for it, however and the truck tilted off balance and with a creaking groan it fell from the narrow strip of highway, tumbling down the foot hill with several crashes. The metal shrieked and crunched with each rolling impact.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

                He wasn’t exactly sure when the empty landscape had become a town of sorts. The space seemed as if the few buildings had suddenly sprouted out of the ground. In fact, if he hadn’t seen the sign reading: Hollister, pop. 245, he’d have never even known the place had a name. The sky was just beginning to gray with first signs of dawn and he was forcing himself to walk upright. The crash— _the crash_ —had fractured a few of his ribs, not to mention the long gash in his forearm—he’d gotten that climbing from the wreckage.

                _He’d been slow to awake, his mind a hazy fog as he attempted to shove his body into action. The first thing he noticed was that he was upside down, followed by the sharp pain in his side—his seatbelt constricting over his torso—and then the voices._

_“Do you see him?”_

_“Nah, not yet…wait…I think I see-”_

_His mind rushed into action, he needed to move and he needed to move now._

_“It’s a woman!” The voice called out in mild surprised._

_“It’s the driver.”_

_From beyond the twisted and crunched metal of his current cage he could see the blonde hair of the truck driver several yards away dimly lit by a flashlight. She was thrown from the truck; vaguely, he remembered her removing her seatbelt to grab a bottle of water from a cooler in back. Apparently, she’d never gotten around to putting it back on._

_“She still breathing?” The voice that asked was far closer to Kyoya than he would’ve liked and he quickly began looking for a way out of his restraints._

_“Barely.” The other called back, his voice a strange mixture of nonchalance and amusement._

_“Finish her off. We’ve got more important things to do than watch useless people die.”_

_A snort and a moment later Kyoya paused in his actions as a shot rang out. He was silent and still, his mind processing her death. However, his thoughts were cut off when footsteps began to approach._

_“The bastard must still be in here.” A laugh. “I never pegged the guy for the seatbelt type.”_

_Kyoya glared. With a quieted wheeze, he gripped the upper half of the belt and levied himself up. Shifting his arm between the belt and himself—gritting his teeth at the added pressure to his side—he dug into his jacket’s inside pocket, his fingers brushing across the Vongola cloud box._

_“I see ‘em! Bastard’s awake too! Not for lo-”_

_He was permanently cut off by the volleyball sized hedgehog blasting into him and burying itself into his chest. At the same time, Kyoya fell to truck’s ceiling, biting back a groan._

_“Mike? Mike!” The one with the flashlight was running over. He didn’t get far. He was quickly made a victim of the cloud’s propagation—of Hibari’s agitation. A dramatically enlarged spike from a floating purple ball was pierced clean through his spine and it stuck out from his chest. Not nearly satisfied enough by his death, Kyoya drug himself through the squished gap formerly occupied by the windshield. He flinched when a large shard of glass shredded his jacket and nestled in his forearm, still he didn’t slow and continued to slid through the opening, eyes narrowing as the makeshift blade tore through his flesh._

_He stood with a hiss, instinctively clutching at his side before he forcedly dropped his hand. He’d had worse, and this was nothing. Raising his arm up for inspection—the gash was long, but not too deep—he deemed it ignorable. Recalling his living weapon to its box, he surveyed the damage. The truck was totaled; he’d killed two scheming herbivores, and with a glance to the far left his gaze landed on the body of the otaku truck driver, Molly. He frowned at her. It hadn’t been his desire to see her dead._

_With a determined step, he began his uphill climb back onto the road._

                That was an hour ago. The local gas station was just opening for business and so he headed to it. Not like there was much else to go to. Even now, as he stood in what he assumed was the heart of the town, he still felt like he was in the middle of nowhere. Yet, just as he was stepping onto the lot, he heard the telltale sound of a speeding car. Just down the road, a black sedan was heading right at him.

                He scowled in annoyance. _Persistent pests._

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                The fight was slower than he usually preferred, his reflexes dulled by his recent injuries. Despite his slowed reflexes, they fell just as easily as before. He’d intended to use the phone in the gas station, but as he glanced back toward the building and stared at the old man whose wiry gray hair was sticking up in wooly puffs, he realized that that would be rather unlikely. The elder was staring at him in fear and looked to be hurriedly calling someone himself—the authorities, most likely. So with an annoyed huff, Hibari walked away.

                An hour later and he found himself even more annoyed than before. The small town was crawling with the mercenaries. It seemed he couldn’t go a single block without running into another one—although given this was a town seemingly in the middle of nowhere, calling it a block was something of a stretch. He’d been walking along side an abandon building when voices caught his attention.

                “All this for one little Asian man?” The voice was thickly accented.

                A snicker and a more Americanized voice responded, “Man, I told you. You can’t take this guy lightly.” A southerner, he assumed by the deep drawl. “He’s already killed like a hundred guys in less than _two days_.”

                “Really?” The accent spoke again and he fought to place it. _European?_ “And you think this is going to stop him?”

                “Tch! Don’t matter.” The southerner spoke again. “We got eyes all over and men from here to Boise. That lil’ fucker ain’t goin’ nowhere.” His words, while whispered, carried his amusement loud and clear.

                Kyoya narrowed his eyes. They knew he was heading for the capital, but what did he care? He’d squash them all. Or rather, he would normally. Given his performance earlier, it was questionable how long he could keep this up _._ He clenched his fist. He’d have to shake them off. He couldn’t go to Boise.

If he remembered correctly, Boise was northwest of his current position. So, then he’d just go the other way. With growing agitation, directed at himself for once— _he wasn’t running_ —he decided his next move. Firstly, get rid of the talking.

                He was silent as stepped around the corner and the first one dropped quickly when the tonfa cracked across his skull with deadly force. The second, a hulking man of unidentifiable origins lunged for him the moment his partner dropped. Kyoya leapt to the right and dropped the giant with a well-placed stomp to the man’s knee cap. He wasn’t gentle and he felt only a deep sense of satisfaction at the crunching of bone, even with his rib cage screaming it’s protest.  Crying out as he fell to his knees, the giant glared up at him with an enraged snarl.

                A hideous expression on a face littered with disfiguring scars; it agitated Kyoya. So without thought or hesitation, he swung a blazing violet tonfa down across the kneeling man’s face. He nearly dropped, but he quickly lifted himself up, intent on getting to his feet. A feral smirk spread across Kyoya’s face. Not many could take a blow to the head from his cloud tonfas and still live. Not that it mattered to him. A durable herbivore was still a herbivore. Kyoya ended the man’s attempt at vengeance with a savage backhanded blow, and there was a quiet wet crunch as the nasal bones shattered and pierced the frontal lobe of the brain. This time, the giant dropped and he didn’t get back up.

                Kyoya turned his gaze to the sky, it was a murky grey edged in pink because the sun was rising. If he wanted to leave out of sight, he had to leave now.

  
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                And so he left. For four days he traveled onward at what would be an unbearably harsh pace for anyone else as badly wounded as he. To make matters worse, the injuries increased. His pursuers weren’t stupid and eventually they found him, as he headed northeast. He was forced to fight and flee repeatedly and the new injuries grated on his pride far worse than they did on his body. As he battled through his flight, his strength and stamina ebbed away. He nearly got himself killed when a lucky hit broke his already fractured ribs. It was only his rage at being injured so greatly that pushed him to defeat the mercenaries that had cornered him in a field of crops.

                Four days, endlessly, he fought and was kept on his toes. He’d rested very little and eaten even less. He barely even noticed when he crossed into Montana. He’d just been soaked in a recent bout of rain when they caught up to him again. He wanted to fight; he needed to fight, but even more than his desire to fight was his desire to live, if only to _tear out the throat_ of the one who dared push him to run like this.

                It was on the fourth night that Hibari Kyoya jumped over a fence. And it was the next day that he woke to a shotgun in his face.


	4. The Wilderness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlene Thompson discovers a nuisance on her land.

** The Nature of the Beast **

 

**_Chapter Three: The Wilderness_ **

 

                According to her grandfather, there had always been wolves on this land, long before his people had traveled here. He’d always say they were her people too, but as always, she was still hesitant to accept a heritage that made up only a quarter of her being. Growing up, she was told stories of warriors and wolves. The tales were always interesting, but she was far more interested in the wolves than she was the warriors. That may have had something to do with the fact that she lived on a wildlife reserve.

                And to this day she still lived on the reserve; her father’s cabin joined together with the reserve’s office. She lived by routine for the most part, most of it boring and mundane, but there were some things that would never be considered mundane. For example: the firearms. The daughter of a former military man—a black ops sniper turned sheriff—Charlie was raised having a great love and respect for the weapons. And when her father passed away four years ago, he’d left only one thing to her: his guns.

                She’d pick up all fourteen firearms: three hunting rifles, two double barreled shotguns, two sniper rifles, and seven handguns—although calling some of them handguns might be debatable given their size—dismantle them, clean every piece, and reassemble them with the clockwork precision of a machine. Of all her worldly possessions, they were her pride and joy and to be truthful she couldn’t even call them hers. In her mind they would always belong to Charles Thompson.

                After taking an hour to thoroughly clean and reload each and every one of the weapons, she’d place them in their respective places, some hidden, and others in plain sight. Then she’d wash her hands in preparation for lunch, whatever it might be, eat, then head outdoors. There was a reason Charlie liked living out in the middle of the woods. It meant that even indoors she was a part of the outdoors, but she knew better. Being in her cabin while far more preferable than an apartment or even a two-story house on a nice and quiet suburban street, even it was not comparable to actually standing amidst the untamed patch of forest that she called home. Yes, she supposed her day to day life could seem rather boring.

                She always spent her afternoons and even her evenings, at times, outdoors. Sometimes by the stream, sometimes all around as she hiked through the many acres of land, and others she’d do nothing but recline on her roof and stare up at the tree tops with nothing but an mp3 player—one of the few modern conveniences she indulged in—for company. Yet, the thing she enjoyed most and attempted to do as much as possible, was to spend time with the pack.

                When she was a child, a large pack had been relocated onto their reserve and she’d gotten so curious she went out and got herself lost. It wasn’t long before she started crying at the top of her lungs. The wolves found her first. In the beginning she was scared and started to cry harder, but strangely enough they kept their distance. They just sat and watched her. Eventually she stopped crying and began to watch them too. They’d been watching each other for nearly an hour when her father found her, her grandfather at his heels.

                Then, when cubs were born the following year, she nearly got herself killed trying to play with them. Her father did everything he could to keep her busy afterwards: lots of homeschooling and gun etiquette. Still, neither her father nor the wolves themselves could keep her away. Over time, they grew accustomed to her presence, but they were never accepting of her, warning her away whenever she got too close.

                But, one day a female had gotten herself injured and with a badly hurt leg had attempted to limp back to the rest of the pack. Her grandfather had caught up to the female before she could and brought her back to the reserve’s small medical facility. A particularly heavy snow storm prevented the on-call veterinarian from arriving and they were forced to do minor damage control while they waited the weather out. You could imagine the surprise when they learned that the she-wolf was the pregnant alpha.

                She gave birth in the corner of the office. Charlie had almost lost a hand several times for it, but she assisted with the pups when the mother was in too much pain or otherwise too busy trying to bite her grandfather while he inspected her injuries. A week later, the vet had come through and patched her up officially and a few days later the mother and her pups were released back onto the reserve. Her father had told her to stay away, but she was already far too attached; it wasn’t even two days before she was sneaking out into the woods to find their hidden away den.

                When she’d found it, the she-wolf had warned her away, but it was too late. Charlie was too persistent and the curious pups, familiar with her scent made no attempt to avoid her. Unlike the other wolves she’d seen over the years, these didn’t become suspicious of her with maturity; they seemed almost friendly towards her. There was one, however, she deemed her favorite—Dakota, she’d even gone as far as naming him. As the years passed, most of his siblings had left the reserve in search of starting their own packs—normal behavior for wolves. However, things got odd when Dakota ascended as the alpha after his sire had passed. Although taking the position of alpha male several years ago, there had never been a definitive alpha female since. In fact, if not for the occasional relocation of a wolf there’d be no new wolves in the pack.

                She knew it was odd, but she overlooked it in favor of being able to socialize with her preferred species. Nine years had passed since the snow storm proceeding Dakota’s birth. She feared he’d pass soon, just like the rest of her family. Her grandfather went in his sleep when she was eighteen and three years later her father died of surgical complications. For the past year she’d spent just about every available afternoon just accompanying them, whether that meant watching from a distance as they hunted or just lazing about in a clearing with them. So really, she saw no reason for today to be any different than any other day.

                Of course, today was not any other day. It was before dawn. She was woken up half an hour early by a suspicious rattling, followed by the chattering she’d come to know as the vocal patterns of her long time annoyance: raccoons. She’d rolled out of bed so quickly, she nearly face planted when her foot tangled in the sheets, but she refused to let it deter her and snatched her foot away, stumbling as she regained her footing. Seizing the handheld tranquilizer gun off the small bedside table she stormed into her kitchen—a vision of disheveled rage.

                They’d obviously heard her coming; two of them were already climbing out the window, trailing crumbs behind them. The last and by far, the largest had stopped to meet her gaze. His feet gripping the thin metal separation of her dual sink. In his paws he clutched an open family sized bag of Doritos. She narrowed her sleepy eyes at him and it chittered at her, suddenly uncertain as she raised the handgun. She squeezed the trigger.

                She was sadly disappointed, however, when she missed. _She shouldn’t have missed. And she wouldn’t have,_ she placated herself, had the furred bastard not ditched the bag of chips that now lay scattered on her kitchen floor. And speaking of her kitchen, it was horrendous. They’d opened every cabinet and raided nearly all of her snacks. Hell, they’d even managed to open her fridge somehow! She took a step forward and cringed as cereal crunched beneath her feet.

                While they may have attacked nearly everything edible in her kitchen, they certainly hadn’t finished it off. _Nope_. _Not all of it._ Most of it was on her floor and her counters…and also on top of the refrigerator. With a sigh she set the gun on the sole crumb-less bit of counter space. Humming to herself she brought her hands up and shoved them through the wild strands of her dark hair. It was inaudible at first, but soon a high pitched groan of frustration was heard as she pulled at her hair and grit her teeth.

                “Fucking raccoons.” She growled and glared about her kitchen. _It’s too early for this shit!_

                And with that thought, she turned and fled the room, choosing to simply forgo breakfast and jump straight to the shower.

                She’d just been in the middle of rinsing off when she was forced to flee the tub screaming bloody murder as the water shot from pleasantly warm to sear-the-flesh-off-your-bones hot. Standing nude in the middle of her bathroom, still covered in suds and her hair weighted down by conditioner, she glared and swallowed the growing anger in her throat. With a low growl she turned off the hot water and finished her shower in cold only.

                _First raccoons, then her hot water was acting screwy, what next?_

She’d paused in her thoughts as she toweled off. Scratch that. She didn’t even want to guess at what misfortune might befall her next. She pulled on her shirt when she heard the telltale sound of ripping fabric. She froze and dropping her gaze to her right, she gave a baleful glare at her bare shoulder, revealed by the newly made gaping hole in her shirt. She was silent for a long moment, then through tightly clenched teeth she muttered, “You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me.”

                Frustrated, she ripped off the ruined piece of clothing and tossed it to the side. Shuffling through her drawer she pulled out a navy tank top, her only remaining clean shirt aside from the ‘holy wonder’ now draped across a chair. Her level of agitation reaching new heights, she stormed through her small cabin and threw herself at the task of cleaning up her kitchen.

                Three hours later, she’d sped through the horrifying chore of purging the kitchen of all traces of the thieving pests, cleaning her guns, and scrounging up some left over stew for lunch. She was supremely grateful to leave her cabin behind when she headed off into the woods, in search of the pack. Things were finally starting to turn into a nice day after all, or so she thought. A thirty minute hike into the woods revealed a new problem: the pack wasn’t where she left them. No big deal. It’s not like she was expecting something as ridiculous as them waiting for her to return. They probably went hunting or just moved to a new area.

                It took another half hour of looking, but she finally found them, near a favorite hunting spot, close to the fence several hundred yards from the highway. It separated the curious animals—human and beast alike—from one another. She was surprised to see them all gathered around something. It wasn’t every day that they found something worth scavenging, but as she grew closer, she realized it wasn’t a carcass, or at least, not yet. It was a person, a man dressed in what looked to be the result of a nice suit thrown into a bramble bush.

                He was pale. Probably from a combination of what she assumed was an Asian ethnicity and blood loss, judging from the dark stains on a purple dress shirt. _Purple_ , she wondered. _Really?_ Even thirty feet away she could see that he was in bad shape. Truth be told, she was surprised he was still breathing. Yet, despite the man’s miserable condition, there was only one thought on her mind as she stood over his body. _Who the hell is this jackass?_

She’d been just about to prod him with the business end of her shotgun when he shifted. She stilled watching his reaction to Dakota’s warning snarl. Leveling the barrel at his face as his oddly colored eyes turned towards her, she told him, “You look a little lost.”

                She was rather disappointed when his eyes unfocused and his lids drifted back shut. “Figures…” She resettled the firearm on her back and stared down at the now unconscious man. After a short internal debate, she acknowledged the fact that she couldn’t simply leave him out here. He’d die. No doubt about it—if not from his injuries, than from a hungry wolf. She’d have to take him back to the cabin. There was a problem with that however; she was four miles away from it and the land between here and there were not appropriate for her jeep.

                Letting out an annoyed grunt, she let her eyes roam over his figure again. She couldn’t carry him. She’d probably wound him more, judging from what she assumed were injured ribs. So with a heavy sigh, she grabbed the man’s legs and began dragging.

                _Really,_ she knew there was a better method than this and _deep down_ she knew he probably wouldn’t appreciate such treatment (neither would she), but for the moment, she decided she really couldn’t give a _rat’s ass_. Today had started off horribly and was now showing no sign of ending pleasantly or even mundanely; she had no patience to spare.

 

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                It took a her nearly two hours to tow (read: drag) the man back to her cabin, the wolves following closely for the first mile before they grew bored and returned to their hunt. Dragging him in from the back door and across the floor, she slid him to a stop in the small medic bay. Eyeing the rather pained and disgruntled expression on his face despite his still unconscious state, she realized he had to be in a serious amount of pain, especially given the journey she’d just pulled him into. With a frown she glanced from his form to the examination table…about three feet off the floor.

                With a sigh she walked over to the medicine cabinet. _She’d better tranquilize him for this._ It was not going to be easy—or painless—to move him from the floor to the table. She’d just picked up the ketamine when she considered the possible side effects. _On second thought, maybe something different…._ She didn’t want him bleeding to death before she could tape him back together. A moment later, she was crouched over him, jabbing a needle into his neck. There was something to say about his state when he didn’t even flinch.

                She gave him a few minutes before she went through the troublesome process of lifting a man who was likely at least thirty pounds heavier than herself onto the table. The weight itself wasn’t the problem, however. Rather it was the combination of dead weight and uncooperative shape. She wasn’t quite strong enough to lift him bridal style, nor was she sure she should even attempt to. It was a difficult, awkward, and arduous battle, but after a ten minute struggle she finally got him where she wanted.

                She purposely ignored the fact that his mid-calves and below hung off the bottom end of the table. His legs weren’t her primary concern anyway. By means of swift, precise motions and a gleaming pair of sharp scissors she made quick work of his blazer and shirt. With growing unease she surveyed the numerous injuries on his body. _Jesus…_ She stared with wide disbelieving eyes. Both his shirt and pale skin were painted with his blood, slowly spreading from a wound that she feared was caused by a rib bone. From what she could see he was probably suffering several fractures as well. What little of his torso wasn’t smeared with his own blood was black and blue.

_What the hell was he even doing still breathing, let alone moving?_ She knew he didn’t get those injuries on her property, she’d have heard the ruckus. _But, he was near the fence._ She shot an incredulous glance to his face. _Had the moron actually climbed the fence in this state?_

                A peek at his oddly untarnished hands had her doubting it. She blinked. _He didn’t jump it, did he?_ She snorted and rolled her eyes at the even more ridiculous notion. _Whatever._ It didn’t matter, he was laying half dead on her table now and that was her main concern: getting him off of it, preferably alive. Sending a studious glare over his form she focused on his lower body and with a shrug, she reached for the scissors once more. _May as well just remove them all at this point._

With a bland glare, she was agitated to find just as many gashes and bruises over his thighs and calves. Narrowing her eyes, she considered removing his boxer briefs just to be thorough, but then mentally shook her head. It wouldn’t be worth it, she could easily work around the snug material, especially given that there only appeared to be one wound high enough on his outer thigh to require her shifting of the underclothing. Giving a huff at her severely injured patient, she turned away to wash her hands and prep for surgery.

                Charlie was not a surgeon; honestly she wasn’t even really a doctor. She was, however a Veterinarian technician and had enough experience and real world practice—courtesy of her father—to keep the man off his death bed. And while she could have just called the rather distant authorities to deal with it, she got the feeling, as she stared at a previously unnoticed injury, things would go a lot smoother if she didn’t.

                She was rather familiar with the sight of a bullet wound, far more familiar with it than a normal twenty-five year old had the right to be. Although, to be fair, this was the first time she’d ever seen one in person. The bullet hadn’t gotten too deep and she could barely make out a glint of metal in the sluggishly bleeding hole in his lower left side. She frowned. Getting shot in the woods wasn’t all that rare, hunting accidents happened all the time, but this—this wasn’t a hunting accident. Growling in annoyance, she reached for her tools and set about piecing him back together.

 

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                She had satisfactorily patched him up. His legs were covered in gauzy patches and Band-Aids, while his torso was near mummified by bandages. The bandages were considerably less over his arms and there were only a few patches of gauze here and there on his forearms. Aside from reordering his rib, the most difficult thing had been digging out the 9mm slug—it had been harder to get at than she’d originally thought. She was practically a professional when it came to stitching so she barely recalled the few gashes she’d cinched closed. Really, she was just surprised his face was untouched. She’d figured as she was cleaning him up, that the attractive male _would_ keep his face from getting injured. Although she knew it was rather biased of her to assume as much.

So now, two hours later, she leaned in the doorway separating her kitchen and living space, arms crossed over her person, watching the surprisingly handsome man sleep. He was still blissfully unconscious, his chest rising and falling peacefully with no signs of breathing trouble. Yet even as she stared watching his resting form, she was unconcerned with his health or even his appearance. She was more concerned with the fact that he was occupying her personal space— _her_ bed.  _And I’ll be damned if the bastard isn’t spreading his germs all over my sheets… probably get his blood on them too while he’s at it._

                With an annoyed scowl, she rolled off the door frame and headed for the bathroom. She needed a shower, she decided suddenly. The thought of his person on her sheets reminded her of the fact that she’d been toiling away in his DNA for the last few hours and she’d begun to feel rather unclean.

 

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                There was a dull ache in his chest as he surfaced and with limited control, he just barely held in the pained groan as he attempted to sit up. He promptly fell back and was momentarily surprised by his cushioned landing. His eyes squinting against the unwelcoming light as he took in the wooden walls and ceiling, his gaze dropping to floor level and taking in the overstuffed navy couch that sat in the corner, a junk cluttered table, and two wide black storage trunks. All the remaining space between, under, and over those objects was filled with boxes. A few of the boxes were labeled with things such as papers, trinkets, mom, and more than a few were labeled as junk.

                Glancing down at himself, he realized that he was lying in a twin sized bed, shoved up against the wall. Tilting his head back and he assumed that the bed’s head board was placed up against what might be a kitchen wall, given the breakfast bar that hung over a square cut-out in the wall to his left. Obviously, someone had found him in the woods and with that thought a vague memory of wolves and a shot gun came flashing back to him. _A voice speaking to him, “You look a little lost.”_ The memory carried with it a distasteful headache.

Scowling, he peeled back the sheet to stare at his bandaged form. He couldn’t remember a time where he’d been so weak as to be so injured. And the thought brought forth a searing anger and repugnant disgust, both for himself and the herbivore who’d caused it.

He’d been about to reattempt his break from the bed when a door opened. His head swiveled quickly to his left where directly across from him the bathroom door had been snatched open. Walking into the room, a towel perched on her head, a woman was furiously rubbing at her wet locks. Dressed in jeans and a dark long sleeved sweater—his eyes glanced over and ignored the gaping hole in its shoulder—she hadn’t bothered with shoes or socks. She paused as she seemed to suddenly notice his wakefulness.

Looking up at him with dark grey eyes—he registered the surprise in them and was well aware when the emotion shifted to agitation—she spoke up. “Well…” She snatched the towel off with an audible snap. “Looks like sleeping beauty’s awake.”

He glared at her then and even in his injured state, the expression was downright malevolent. Still, it only irritated him more when her only reaction was to raise an eyebrow.

He refused to let up his glare and became gradually more agitated when she didn’t respond, only continued to stare at him, her expression one of annoyed patience. Realizing that he’d get nowhere in his current state he finally questioned, “Where am I?”


	5. Underlying Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the bad first impressions continue...

**The Nature of the Beast**

 

**_Underlying Threats_ **

****

                The look on his face was downright murderous. She could actually _feel_ the killing intent from him and if not for the fact that the man was half broken in her bed on the other side of the room, she might have actually been worried. Instead, she fought the urge to laugh at him. She wasn’t about to be intimidated by an injured, unarmed man, especially not when she could still feel the cool metal of a Beretta 92 pressing pleasantly against the shower-heated skin of her lower back. _Ironic, really,_ she mused. _If she shot him, she’d be putting a bullet fairly similar to the one she dug out, right back into him._

She’d only barely registered the movement of his mouth as she realized he’d said something. “What?”

                She was mildly amused by the darkening of his features—she’d thought his glare couldn’t get any worse.

                “Where am I?” His voice was low and husky from what she was sure was dehydration, but she didn’t fail to pick up the less than friendly intent should she not answer this time.

                She was silent for a long moment, debating on how honest her answer should be. “A cabin in the woods.”

                He didn’t seem too pleased by it.

 

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                He’d been just about to get out of the bed when she suddenly sighed with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “You’re in the middle of Nowhere, Montana. There’s no point in me going any further with the details, seeing as the nearest semblance of civilization is miles away. That is, _unless_ , you want the longitude and latitude coordinates.” Sarcasm thickly coating her words.

                His fingers twitched as they suddenly longed to grip the metal shafts of his tonfas.  He had a sudden old and familiar urge to bludgeon the insubordinate woman to death. And on that note, his eyes narrowed and he quickly swept his gaze over himself once more and then the room itself. _Where were his things? His clothes? His_ weapons _?_

                She’d apparently taken notice of his searching stare. “Looking for something?” Thankfully most of the sarcasm had left her voice.

                He narrowed his eyes at her, his gaze promised pain, yet he found himself vaguely intrigued when her expression yielded nothing. If anything, she met his stare calmly—defiantly. He found his annoyance with the woman skyrocketing. He was unfortunately at a loss for words. The reason being, that he’d never needed words at this point. It was rare for him to encounter someone who didn’t back down in fear of his ire, even so, the harm that he inflicted on them afterwards usually made sure they didn’t annoy him again. However, he was currently without his weapons, relatively injured, and for a lack of a better word: _weak,_ leaving him at great disadvantage…. He managed to minimize his reaction to this and there was only a slight muscle twitch at the corner of his left eye.

                He forced himself to relax, his eyes trailing over his injuries again. They’d been treated and while the pain was a faraway ache, he was aware of them enough to know that he’d likely be on his deathbed if they hadn’t. Raising his head, he stared at the impudent woman, her arms crossed over her chest as she waited for his response. As far as he could tell, there was no one else in the surrounding area, meaning it was quite likely she was responsible for his treatment. He scowled inwardly; _he was indebted to her._

“Woman, where are my things?” He was agitated by how feeble his voice was, but he managed to sound better than the previous time he spoke.

                She raised an eyebrow at him, “Your things… Mr.… ” Her gaze trailed off with her words and she suddenly turned away from him to walk towards the table in the corner.

                His eyes followed her trajectory and narrowed as he glimpsed a purple box just barely visible amongst the table’s clutter. He watched as she leisurely skimmed the chaotic contents before fishing out a small booklet. _His passport._ He narrowed his eyes as she flipped it open as if ignorant of his presence.

                “Hmm…Kyoya…Hibari…in Japanese that’s in reverse, right? Hibari Kyoya?” She gave him a questioning glance.

                He said nothing, which was just as well as she seemed confident in her assumption. To his utter annoyance, the passport was real. He’d never needed to have a false form of Identification made nor did he want to, he refused to participate in such mischievous behavior. Regardless, it had never mattered to begin with; his more violent dealings were largely unknown by foreign authorities and those that suspected him were never able to pin anything on him. _Unlike Sawada Tsunayoshi and his crowd._ _Still_ , he didn’t appreciate the woman just flipping through his passport at her leisure.

                “So? What should I refer to you as then? Mr. Hibari? Kyo-”

                “Hibari.” He silenced her with his abrupt answer.

                “Oh. Okay then.” She nodded. “Well, _Kyoya_ ,” she smiled as he narrowed his eyes, “your things are right over here on this table. You can _come get them_ whenever you want.”

                He stared at the twenty foot distance and started to shift in the bed when she spoke again, “…but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

                He gave her a dark look in place of a question.

                “You’re injured, you’ve lost a _lot_ of blood, and you’re _very_ dehydrated. Hell, if you weren’t so dehydrated, I’d have considered hooking you up with a catheter, so you wouldn’t piss on yourself— _or my bed_.” She turned away from him to poke at his box weapon. “Besides, I hardly doubt your little _toys_ are worth the risk.”

                Extremely agitated by this point, he’d flung the covers back and not even the vicious pain that tore through his body as he suddenly stood gave him pause. What gave him pause was a metallic click.

                “Safety’s off.” She shrugged to him.

                This time as his gaze narrowed on her, he studied her. She hadn’t been afraid when she’d snatched the handgun from the back of her jeans. The silver and black weapon was leveled at him, two inches to the left of his center: his heart. There was no tremor in her arm despite the Beretta’s weight and the extension of her limb; she was accustomed to using the device. “Sit down, Mr. Hibari.”

                He glared at her and slowly lowered himself back down to the bed, aware of the gun’s barrel following his motion.

                “Don’t worry, it’s not my intention to harm you, let alone kill you.”

                She smiled slightly when he stared pointedly at the gun. “It’s just a precaution. It’s not as if you can blame me in this situation with someone like you.”

                _What did she know?_ He cocked his head questioningly at her, “Someone like me?”

                She sighed and lowered the weapon, her finger still too close to the trigger to be ignored. “I’m not stupid. Guy turns up in the middle of the woods, dressed in an absurdly expensive suit, injured all to hell, looking like he’s been running the gauntlet, not to mention the 9mm slug I dug out of your lower back” She glared at him accusingly before shifting her gaze to her table. “Then I just really couldn’t ignore this.” She picked up a bundled wad of cash, followed by another, then two more, each covered in noticeably different designs. “Now, I could’ve overlooked it if was just American and Japanese, but you also have rather large wads of Euros and Rubles.” She gave him a flat look.

“Do you play detective often or are you just enjoying the novelty of it?” He kept his voice low, but his tone was noticeably snide. “Are you sure you should be making decisions based on your pitiful assumptions? You could easily be wrong.” While his words spoke of his innocence, the harsh look in his eyes said otherwise.

                She looked at him incredulously.  “Are you trying to say _you’re_ the _victim_?” She made sure to acknowledge the sour look on his face at the mocking accusation. “You could be, but I doubt it.” She tapped her trigger finger alongside the barrel of the gun as if in consideration. “You play a horrible victim, Hibari-san.”

                He cut her an odd glance at the use of the respectful suffix.

                Her smile was polite this time. “My Japanese is severely lacking and highly out of practice, but I remember my honorifics. And to be honest, I feel like referring to you as _Mr._ is giving you far too much credit.” Her tone, however, was blunt and without sarcasm.

                He glared at her, but said nothing. He was this close to ignoring his debt and disciplining her right where she stood. It wouldn’t be hard, she was right next to his tonfas and he was well aware of the ring still upon his finger. In fact, he doubted he’d even need to draw upon his flames; it’d be far too easy. Later on he’d look back on this moment and realize that this was the first time in years that he really felt the need to punish someone.

                She sighed and slumped back against the table. “ _Look_. You’re right. I don’t know who or what you are. I do, _however,_ know that a man in your condition, stumbling into the middle of nowhere with cash like this,” she plucked at the currency once more, “is unlikely to mean anything good for someone like me, the innocent by-stander who was stupid enough to help.”

                He certainly wasn’t going to correct her.

                “I don’t know who’s after you, but I’m certain someone is. My only concern is making sure that you leave my property breathing and in one piece. ” She emphasized her statement with a pointed look and made a show of putting away her weapon. “So, please, try not to cause any trouble for me.”

                He observed her for a long moment before he was satisfied with his assessment. Closing his eyes, he laid back on the small bed. “Then, you should have just left me there.” His words were clipped and final.

                She walked past him with a derisive snort. “ _Please_ , I’m not _that_ apathetic. Besides, then I’d have to deal with your rotting corpse on my property.”

                He shot her a glare as she strode into the kitchen. He narrowed his eyes, but painstakingly resituated himself back under the covers. He was severely agitated with the female.

 

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                In the kitchen, Charlie was quietly driving herself mad as she searched high and low for a straw. She knew she had some and even if she didn’t, she was sure that one of the part timers had brought some over. And on that thought, she mentally reminded herself to give the weekday workers the week off. She didn’t need them barging in on this crazy scenario. After a tedious search of ten minutes she finally found one; only to be disappointed. It wasn’t a bendy straw. Of course, after a moment, she shrugged. _Why should she care? She was playing good Samaritan, not paid nurse._

And with that notion, she grabbed a glass, filled it with water and left it on the old wooden nightstand next to the bed…she grudgingly placed the straw in the glass beforehand. Her good deed for the next several weeks done, she stepped out into the night air for a much needed solitude break.

                When she returned an hour later, she’d already called her part timers—they tried and failed to hide their glee of a paid week off—and she was unsurprised to find her unwelcome house guest dead to the world. Not literally, of course. _That would be bad._ Truth be told, she’d been surprised he’d woken so quickly to begin with. It should’ve been hours before he surfaced. At first, she’d attributed it to a fast metabolism, but now, after having spoken to him, she was thinking that he was just a rather willful individual. Still, willful or not, his body was extremely fatigued even without the drugs running in his system. It was only a matter of time before sleep pulled him back under.

                Quietly—because she didn’t want to deal with him—she changed into her shorts and a tank top. Grabbing a blanket from the closet and an extra pillow, she meandered over to the couch. Staring at the blue monstrosity, she glanced over her shoulder, at the man in her bed. _Bastard._ With a huff, she settled herself down for a fitful sleep.

 

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                When he awoke this time, it was to a pain so intense he nearly blacked out. Instead he drifted in and out of consciousness, only waking fully when a figure loomed over him. His first instinct was to lash out, but the sudden motion jarred his torso and a whole new burst of pain blossomed in his side. He grunted and clenched his teeth against the pained cry that he’d been on the verge of unleashing. Focusing a bleary gaze on the being in front of him, he said nothing as the image cleared and revealed the woman from before. She was giving him a rather irate stare.

                “Are you going to let go?”

                He realized then that he had grabbed her arm when he lashed out. His expression darkened by poorly hidden pain. He glared at her, but nevertheless released the limb.

                Snatching her arm back to her side, she gave the abused flesh a quick glance before looking back at him. She sighed from her position, crouched on the hardwood floor. “This is your fault, you know?”

                When he said nothing in response, she rolled her eyes and continued. “You have three broken ribs, two of which are on your left side. You rolled onto your side in your sleep and those drugs ran out of your system hours ago. Need I remind you that it was only less than twenty four hours ago that I shifted your ribs back in their proper place and bandaged you up?”

                His only response was to roll onto his back, but judging by the quiet gasp and grunt as he resituated himself, it wasn’t easy. Charlie gave him a bland look and shook her head. Even if he lay on his back now, he’d already agitated his injuries. They’d be complaining for a while. “You need something for the pain.”

                He shot her a look and she assumed he was ungrateful for the observation. She rolled her eyes, “But first, you need to eat something.” She stood up from the floor and wandered into the kitchen. Ten minutes later he was staring at a bowl of faintly yellow liquid. She almost laughed when he stared at her over the bowl.

 “While I may have said you need to eat something, I can’t give you anything heavy. Your body is starved, and frankly, it’s _weak.”_ She ignored his murderous glare. “So broth is the safest for now. If you manage to hold it down, then next time you can get something better. Either way you need to have something in your stomach.”

                He stared at the bowl, stalling for a moment longer and then, “I’d prefer to starve. Just give me the medicine and leave me be.”

                _…is he serious?_ She gave him a disbelieving stare. Even if he didn’t want broth, it had to have been days since he’d eaten anything. And he was choosing to starve simply because the bastard was a picky eater? “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you don’t have a choice.”

                Yet, the flinty look in his eyes as he responded, “I refuse,” said otherwise.

                She nearly threw the bowl at him then. “Look, you _annoying_ , _picky_ _bastard,_ you have two options and neither involve you starving. Either, you drink this broth or I get the _feeding tube_.” Neither her tone nor her expression gave him room to argue.

                Yet again, Hibari found himself cursing his weakness. There was nothing he could do but lie useless in a bed. If he wanted to get his revenge, if he wanted to be free of this _bed_ , he had to recover. And as much as he detested it, it meant he might actually have to listen to her.

                A long moment of silence passed between the two before Charlie set the bowl on the night stand. Glancing away from the broth, she gave him a pointed look, “I’ll be back for the bowl shortly. I’ll give you something for the pain then.” She left him to his own devices.

 

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                When she returned fifteen minutes later, she didn’t bother to hide the smug smile spreading across her face. The bowl was empty. And her ungrateful patient was lying back, staring at the ceiling with a calculating glare. _That,_ however, wiped the smile off her face. All the anger and agitation she’d grown accustomed to feeling around him had suddenly vanished. Ever since he’d woken up the previous night he’d been murderous and childishly irrational, but now to see him so calm, it set her teeth on edge. She approached the bed silently, but flinched when he turned to observe her. She’d been pretty sure he wasn’t paying any attention to his surroundings. It bothered her to know how wrong she’d been.

                With a louder than necessary thump, she placed two pill bottles on the table. “Take one from the tall bottle every eight hours and one from the short bottle every four hours.” Lifting the empty bowl from the surface, she pointed to a digital alarm clock that had been hidden by the ceramic container. “It’s 11:00am now.”

                She’d been about to take the bowl into the kitchen, eager to be away from him, when his voice stopped her.

                “Woman.”

                She frowned at his method of addressing her.

                “In one week.”

                She looked back at him, raising an eyebrow.

                “In one week, I will be recovered.”

                _Unlikely_ , she thought.

                “And when that time comes,” he turned a sharp eyed stare on her and she found herself unnerved for it, “I will bite you to death.”


	6. Posession is 9/10 of the Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyouya doesn't like people touching his things.

**The Nature of the Beast**

 

**_Chapter Five: Possession is 9/10 of the Law_ **

****

Eight a.m., Tuesday morning, Hibari found himself awakening to an annoying sight. The woman was at the junk covered table again; she was fiddling with his belongings. More specifically, a small round metal can-like object: one of his collapsed tonfas. She’d been trying to figure out what it was for the past five minutes and had done everything from trying to pry it open with her nails to banging it on the table. Like some sort of wild animal, Hibari nearly expected her to bite it next. He’d unknowingly likened her to a raccoon trying to crack open an oyster on a river bed.

                _Really…_ If she didn’t stop, she was likely to— _click!_

He smirked as the weapon suddenly expanded to its full size—right in front of her face. The smirk, however, fell when he realized that she’d dodged the projection by mere centimeters. Her reflexes had saved her. She’d held her face so closely to it; Hibari wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d skewered her head onto the telescoping weapon. _He was rather disappointed that she didn’t._

 

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                Wide eyed, she flung the weapon onto the table. _What the hell?_ She almost killed herself! Giving the other unknown objects a withering glare, she turned from the table only to nearly jump out her skin at the intense stare coming from her bed. Straightening herself quickly, she frowned at the injured criminal and stalked past. “What?” She yelled harshly, storming into the kitchen too quick for him to give a response. Not that he needed to, she’d felt his gaze on her the whole time.

                Once hidden away in the kitchen, she allowed her eyes to widen once more and her fingers to graze a spot on her forehead, beneath barely kept bangs. That _had been dangerous. Even more so, it had been stupid! What if she had died? Dear lord, what a retarded way to go!_ She berated herself for several more minutes before turning the rage of her near death experience onto the weapon’s owner. _Who the hell carries around stuff like that?_ _Then again,_ she thought with a sudden frown, _who the hell says stuff like that?_

                The memory of yesterday’s “ _I will bite you to death”_ scene was still fresh in her mind. And she was no more accepting of it now than she was then. She’d looked at him like some sort of mutated beast before giving him an incredulous stare that gradually shaped into a glare. Annoyed and somewhat irked by his unusual statement, she told him, “I’d like to see you try.” She’d left him alone then, muttering under her breath, “Crazy prick….” She hadn’t seen his response, but the icy stare she’d felt on her back afterwards had made her nervous, meaning she’d become extra agitated when dealing with her ornery patient.

                Speaking of her _patient_ , she considered the time and reached across the counter to snatch up a clean glass. Filling it with cool water from the tap, she walked back into her joint living room-bedroom, the heels of her boots stomping rhythmically. Harshly placing the glass down with a thump on the nightstand, she turned quickly, intent on fleeing to the kitchen before she could enter another awkward conversation with him.

                “Woman.”

                _Damn._

                “What, _Kyoya_?” She was really getting tired of being addressed like that, unfortunately he hadn’t asked her name—she was too stubborn to tell him herself—so she assumed he couldn’t care less. Her only revenge, petty though it was, was calling him by his first name.

                And like she predicted, his lips contorted into a disapproving frown and his eyes narrowed with such vehemence you’d think she’d murdered his beloved grandmother or something. Unfortunately, he was beginning to overlook her “abuse” of his name, which irked her, given that she’d only been doing it for a day and a half.

                His expression recovered, he continued his original plan of speech, “Stay away from my things.”

                She sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. He was doing it again, digging under her skin like a festering wound. She wasn’t sure what was worse: the look he gave her when he spoke with that razor edged voice or the intimidating feeling she got from it. Pivoting on her heels to face him down, she gave him a pleasant smile. _It was only fair that she do the same._

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“ _Your_ things, you say? _Yours?”_ Her tone was satirical, sounding innocent and mocking all at once.

                He immediately grew wary. Glaring at her, he mentally urged her to get on with whatever game she was trying to play. He had no patience for mind games. He purposely ignored the fact that for the time being all he _could_ have was patience.

                “Ya see…” she began and Hibari’s gaze darkened as she took her time. “I’m not very familiar with the laws of Japan or…well, any other country, but my own. Nor do I ever intend to be, for that matter, but back to the point. Here in the U.S. of A. there’s a saying concerning people’s belongings. It goes: Possession is 9/10 of the Law. Ever heard of it?”

                At his continuing baleful gaze, she only smiled prettily and he suddenly wanted to kill her for it. “I’ve found that even here, while people are familiar with the phrase, not many people actually know what it means. Just in case you’re one of those people, let me educate you.”

                He had no verbal or expressive response to her ending, to which she seemed disappointed. She couldn’t see his right hand tightening into a fist that longed for a weapon.

                “Possession is 9/10 of the Law. What it refers to is actually quite simple. It basically means that if someone is in possession of an item, it is assumed to be theirs. This means— _if you haven’t caught on by now—_ that so long as _your_ belongings are in _my_ house, they belong to _me_.”

                Frowning, Kyoya was suddenly forced to press his fist into the bed, lest she notice the vibrant violet flame pouring from his ring. Never before had he dealt with such an irritating woman. She needed to be put into her place, _preferably_ under his foot.

                “Oh. And if you have a problem with this… you’re welcome to dispute it by… let’s see… getting up, walking to the phone—which is in the back of the building, by the way—and calling the _authorities._ That’ll play out nicely, I’m sure!” She snorted in amusement and headed back to the kitchen.

                “Woman.”

                She rolled her eyes and looked back at him with what he could only assume was an exasperated expression.

                “I’m not fond of repeating myself, so this will be the last time I say this; come the end of this week, you will pay for your mischief.”

                “Mischief?” She gave him an incredulous look. “ _Really?_ You gonna ‘ _bite me to death’_?”

 

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                She’d spoken with sarcasm, but as his lips curved into a thin smile and his eyes gained a very predatorial gleam, she froze. She was struck for a moment by a semblance of fear, a chill creeping down her spine, but the chill was thawed fairly quickly. Charlie did not respond well to fear. Fear was an annoyance and as such it angered her. Tightening her jaw against the insults that begged to be let loose, she smiled and leaned forward, a sultry tone in her voice, "As I said last time, I’d _love_ to see you try.”

                For a moment she wondered if she’d gone too far, but then she shrugged it off. Even if he was crazy, she could squeeze off several rounds before he’d be able to hobble over to her. She wasn’t worried about Kyoya Hibari _… Hibari… Kyoya…whatever._ She strode back into the kitchen and noisily began to prepare lunch. _She’d noticed he was rather sensitive to noise,_ especially _when he was resting._

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                When he was certain that her attention wasn’t directed towards him— _did she_ always _have to make so much noise_ —Kyoya lifted his right hand. The appendage was still clenched into a fist, his agitation feeding the cloud flames that lit from his ring. Narrowing his eyes at the _accessory_ , he tightened his grip as he focused on the source of his annoyance: the annoying female in the room behind him, the injuries that had left him temporarily bed-ridden, and the herbivore that was to blame for all of it. The violet flame flared and painted a lavender glow on its surroundings. Just as suddenly as it had expanded, however, it snuffed itself out.

                _Not yet._

                Releasing his hand from its grip, Kyoya resettled himself onto the pillow. He’d have preferred not to use it, but if his injuries continued to persist, he’d have no choice. He highly doubted his pursuers would allow him time to heal; it was only a matter of time before they found him. And when that time came, he fully intended on crushing them with his full strength. It was merely a bonus that his _savior_ might suffer the same fate if she continued to annoy him.

                His thoughts calm for the moment, he reached over for his pain medication and the glass of water next to them. He’d experimented the previous night and had chosen not to take the medication. The pain while bearable was something he preferred to avoid; the annoyance made sleep impossible. When he was done, he returned the bottles and now empty glass to the table and allowed himself to drift into a light doze…or as much of a doze as he could when he was constantly awoken by a loud bang or clatter from the other side of the wall. _Irritating female._

 

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                She’d just turned the stove off when an odd noise had her looking up to an unexpected sight. He was standing, and with a grunt he took a few steps before taking a moment to correct his breathing. A moment later he was walking across the room, his posture, perfect and his breathing, even. _That has_ got _to hurt._ She nearly snorted at the sight, but she choked on laughter as she saw his destination: the bathroom. It was about time. She’d given him more than enough liquids. Considering his condition on arrival, it wasn’t a laughing matter. Still, the sight of him walking to the bathroom in merely boxer briefs and bandages while pretending to be ignorant of his pain was strangely comical.

                Stepping into the kitchen doorway, she wore an amused expression, “Need some help?” She couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she spoke.

                He gave her a frosty glare and proceeded to ignore her question. Watching as he managed to step into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, she realized that he was taller than she’d originally thought. He had her by an inch, maybe two. _Damn_ …she was hoping he’d be a stereotypical short Asian. Not that it really mattered to her; it just removed an insult or two from her arsenal. She was still musing over his height, when the sound of running water came to a stop. A moment later he was walking out. He didn’t even pause to glare at her and her lips trembled as she fought not to laugh. Instead she let out and awkward cough and snickered as she went back to the food.

 

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                Meanwhile Kyoya had just reconsidered her title of irritating female to one he found more appropriate: _dead_ female. He’d just resituated himself into the bed when an unfamiliar smell hit his nose. He turned to find her setting a bowl of an unrecognizable stew of sorts on the bedside table.  At his questioning stare, she sighed. “It’s rabbit.”

                He stared at it. He’d never eaten rabbit before and now that he had no other choices he wasn’t particularly sure he wanted to. “You didn’t make this today.” She couldn’t have, he’d have smelt it earlier.

                “Of course not. I haven’t been hunting in nearly a week.” She gave him a look. “Saturday’s dinner is today’s lunch. Besides, you should be satisfied it’s not broth.” She walked away, the sounds of her footsteps going past the kitchen. She’d gone to the other side of the cabin.

                After an internal debate of sorts, he lifted the steaming bowl and stared at the contents. It wasn’t unappealing, the liquid content was a yellowish-brown and the thick chunks of meat largely resembled chicken. The stew was thick with large slices of vegetables, carrots and potatoes, there were also peas and onions present. He glared at the unfamiliar meal for a long while before picking up the spoon and trying it. The broth itself wasn’t bad, but he was more suspicious about the meat. It was tender, but slightly chewy, like beef. Taste wise, it was similar to chicken, but at the same time not at all. He frowned at it, but in the end decided it didn’t matter. He didn’t dislike it and it was solid food. Lifting the spoon again, he proceeded to gradually empty the bowl.

 

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                She’d gone out the backdoor, barely remembering to grab the sawed off shotgun she kept on her person in case of emergencies. What kind of emergencies, exactly, she wasn’t sure. It was just a habit instilled into her by her paranoid father. She remembered telling him he was paranoid, to which he’d responded, “better paranoid, than stupid and unprepared.” In the years following, she’d realized just how right that was. _Hell_ , the only reason she trusted that weirdo in her cabin without supervision was because the fifteen firearms in her house were all hidden away. Add to that the fact that he’d only ever seen her Beretta and her shot gun, nor was he ever awake when she cleaned them all, she highly doubted he was even aware she had more guns.

                She’d hiked about forty minutes into the woods before settling down near the rocky shore of the river. This part of the river was shallow and trickled sluggishly between large worn down stones. Removing her boots and socks, she plunged her feet into the cool water without hesitation and sighed as she stretched back across the ground. With only the birds and the sound of water for company it wasn’t long before she dozed off.

                When she awoke, she wasn’t surprised by the furry body next to her. “…furball…” she shoved at the great beast.

                The grey wolf, large even for its breed, snorted as it rocked in place. Charlie was only momentarily amused by the action before a thick tail swatted across her face and she quickly sat up brushing her hands across her face and sputtering at what she feared might be strands of fur clinging to her lips. Once she was sure her face was fur free, she turned a withering glare onto the canine. “Dakota….”

                He turned golden eyes on her, his mouth open and tongue lolling as he panted and she imagined that had he human lips, his expression would be very similar to a grin. Rolling her eyes at her companion, she looked about and noticed the absence of the pack. He must’ve picked up her scent and followed her. He did that sometimes. Sometimes the pack followed, convinced by the chance of food. It was often that she found them picking off the escapees when she hunted.

                Sighing, she placed a hand on his head and ruffled the fur, knowing he didn’t like the action. Shaking his head away from her grasp, she smiled when she was forced to snatch away her hand as he attempted to snap at it. Flopping back to forest floor, she stared up at the dusky sky. The sun was going down. _How long had she been asleep?_ Lifting her feet from the river, the wrinkles said it all. She laughed at her carelessness and inclined her feet on a stone still warm from the waning sunlight. She’d go back when they were dry.

 

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                Upon returning to the cabin, all Charlie could think about was lying back down. Not because she was tired, but rather because lying on the forest floor wasn’t exactly friendly to one’s back. She’d been so eager to get into bed that it wasn’t until she saw said bed, _occupied_ , that she remembered that she couldn’t. Staring at the decidedly attractive, yet weirdly creepy and injured man in her bed, she realized that she couldn’t allow this to go on.

                “Hey.”

                He didn’t move, but she knew he was awake; he was a ridiculously light sleeper. “You can’t have the bed anymore.” She continued as he opened his eyes, “were switching, you get the couch.”

                Yet, the look he gave her said anything but. When she seemed to have nothing else to say, he closed his eyes again.

                Incensed, she kicked the bed. “Get up.”

                He grunted as her action jarred the bed and his injuries. Glaring at her now, “woman, I have no intention of moving to that ancient piece of furniture.”

                “Really?” She reached for him, but paused at the look that crossed his face. It was expectant, hopeful almost.

                “Touch me and I will have your hands.” His tone and the strangely hungry gaze in his eyes warned her that he’d do just that. Just, _how exactly,_ she wasn’t sure.

                Still, paranoia warned her away. “Tch.” She left the room.

 

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                When she came back twenty minutes later, he hadn’t bothered to open his eyes. Not even at her hostile aura, she was always hostile when she entered the space. Later on he’d regret not having done so; he may have noticed the needle coming at his neck beforehand. His eyes flying open, he snatched her by the wrist, but it was too late she’d already jabbed the plunger down. His lids fluttering as the drug kicked in and his vision blurring, the last thing he heard was, “Goodnight, jackass.”

                She sighed in satisfaction once his vitals showed that he was properly sedated. Still, she stared at her wrist, his fingers still tightly wrapped around it with vicious pressure. She struggled for a few minutes, tugging at the appendage. When she finally freed herself, she stared at the red marks of his fingers in wariness. _…bastard has one hell of a grip._ She’d probably have a nasty bruise come morning. _Ah, morning…_ this time, she’d wake up in her bed! _Not_ , on the overstuffed navy monstrosity that was once so beloved to her grandfather. _Now,_ she stood, _just to move the creep._

                She’d forgotten how hard it was to move him the first time. It took her almost twenty minutes to get him on the couch without reinjuring him and even still she could see blood soaking his bandages. Sighing, she let out a groan of annoyance and hurried to the medical bay. She returned with clean bandages and ointment. Removing his bandages, she was fast, but meticulous in cleaning his agitated wounds and re-bandaging him.  Yet after her work was done, she’d stared at the bed and suddenly she knew she’d have to change the sheets and pillow cases. There was no was no way she was going to sleep in the sheets he’d contaminated. It was bad enough she’d let him sleep in _her_ bed to begin with. Taking the top sheet and comforter from the bed, she laid them unceremoniously on top of the very unconscious Hibari Kyoya then searched her closets for clean linen.

                Despite her quickness, it was still over an hour before she was able to slip into her bed. Sighing in utter satisfaction, she allowed herself to relax.

 

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                The sedative she’d used hadn’t been meant for long use and so he found himself drifting into the conscious world an hour later. However, upon awakening, he found that they weren’t alone in the room. Blurry steel blue eyes met gold and Kyoya _knew_ he was hallucinating. _He had to be_.  He let his head drop back down and his heavy eye lids close. Returning to slumber, he ignored what he thought he saw. That night, Hibari Kyoya dreamed of wolves.


	7. Run with the Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Kyouya learns he's not the only predator lurking.

**The Nature of the Beast**

 

**_Chapter Six: Run with the Wolves_ **

****

                _At first there was nothing—nothing but the vicious puff of frigid air slamming into his chest with every panted breath. His vision dampened by darkness, his breath louder than anything else. Yet with the stretching of his limbs, driving his form across a land he couldn’t see, he felt others. They flanked him, the warmth of their bodies a beacon in a blinding void.  Faint lines of light traced at the edges of his sight and he could just barely make out the multicolored hairs of his pack mates.  A howl rent through the air and a new object entered his line of sight: a man. A snarl tore through his chest and he led the charge._

 _A shift of sorts, the transition was sudden and without warning. Where he’d once been staring at a man’s back, he was now looking over the man’s shoulder._ No _. He_ was _the man. He was running, the beasts were at his heels. He could feel the sharp whisper of a breeze as their teeth snapped at the air just above his flesh, the sudden wet warmth of saliva splashing over his skin from the force of their jaws. He was a man, but he snarled himself. Trapped in this body, he suddenly longed for his former primal state.  A searing pain stabbed at him abruptly as a mouth of pearly fangs sunk deep into his calf. Gravity called to him, but he refused to fall, instead he turned and lunged. He lunged for the beast that would make_ him _a victim._

_His enraged cry was met by another. Golden eyes rimmed in darkness and a vicious grin that found its home—nestled in his throat._

                He awoke with a flinch, staring at a wooden ceiling that was beginning to grow far too familiar for his liking. Hesitantly, his fingers ghosted over the flesh of his neck and he was almost surprised to find his skin smooth and unblemished. It annoyed him to admit, that some part of him expected to find torn and ravaged flesh, wet with his blood. He wasn’t much of a dreamer in the first place, let alone one for nightmares. _If that’s what it was._ It was an unusual occurrence. _…much like this ceiling._ He frowned, the ceiling was familiar, but there was something off about it. He flinched as a sort of short breeze puffed over his cheek. Instinctively, he turned to find the cause.

                Golden eyes stared back.

                He blinked and a moment later, he confirmed that he was indeed awake. He hadn’t been imagining things last night, nor that first time a few days ago. He _had_ seen a wolf. A large grey wolf, its fur in shades of grey and black, faintly dappled with a rusted brown, its head was positioned higher than his own—an easy vantage point. _This wolf._ He’d seen it before. _Recently._ It was the same wolf that tore out his throat. His eyes narrowed and no sooner had he begun harboring his animosity did he witness the beast’s ears flick back, the skin between its eyes fold and wrinkle as its lips stretched back in a fearsome snarl. The sound was disturbingly similar to the one from his dream, but Kyoya was not frightened. He was _agitated._ His glare sharpened into a deadly point and he waited for the beast to lunge. His dream had been just that, a _dream,_ it held no sway over his reality.

                Another snarl and the beast hunched lower to the floor, his fur fanning over his body, yet Kyoya was amused to see that its gaze never shifted from his own. Instead, its attention was single mindedly focused on _him._ Kyoya reached to peel back the blanket and the sudden twitch of a dark lined lip was all the warning he received as the wolf lunged.

                “Dakota!”

                Kyoya blinked in genuine surprise when the beast halted mid-assault and looked sharply to its left. Frowning, he followed its gaze and stared, confused for a moment, at the woman in the kitchen. She was seated at a small dining table. The table itself was covered in what he thought to be several firearms. For a moment he considered ignoring that assumption, but he decided against that when he considered the several times she’d held one in her grasp. She was sitting at a table—in the kitchen— _dismantling firearms_. _Odd,_ but not at all the weirdest thing he’d laid eyes on, therefore nothing for him to be concerned about. However, as he watched her return to her self-appointed chore, he realized why the ceiling had bothered him before.

                He looked to his left, past the wolf and at a neatly made twin sized bed, shoved up against the wall; the bed that he’d last remembered himself being in. A glance down and he recognized the navy fabric beneath him as belonging to the overstuffed monstrosity of a couch that he’d adamantly refused to move to. He looked past his feet again and into the kitchen. She’d spun him in the complete opposite direction.  Where he’d once been on the bed facing the front door with his back to the kitchen, he was now on the other side of the room—entrapped by sunken cushions—facing the kitchen with his back to the front door.

                _Still,_ he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten over here. He shot an annoyed glare to the wolf as it shifted to face away from him entirely. He unknowingly touched his neck again, the dream more vivid than he’d care to admit. _The dream. It was unusual for him to dream. Let alone dream about his throat being torn out…._ The shift in his mood was immediately noticeable and no sooner had he started to fight his way free of clinging cushions had the wolf turned back to lash out. Gritting his teeth against the pain of healing bones, he found himself in a standoff.

                He’d managed to maneuver himself into sitting on the couch’s edge, unable to move any further before his would be attacker had met his glare a mere two inches away.

                A sigh followed by the metallic shuttle sound of a loaded firearm was what ended the impasse.

 

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                Stepping between the two with little caution of Dakota’s teeth, she leveled the shotgun at her unappreciative houseguest. Tossing a look over her shoulder at the still growling wolf, Charlie glared. She couldn’t believe she was interrupting a pissing contest in her own living room…between a wolf and a man, at that. “Quit it.” A sharp jerk of her head and she signaled for Dakota to leave the room. There was a canine snuffle, one she’d likened to annoyance on Dakota’s part, but eventually he padded out of the living room.

                “Woman-”

                “And you!” She retrained her gaze on the human male. “…stop with this _woman_ bullshit! My name is Charlie.” She narrowed her eyes as though to enforce her command. “Call me woman again and I’ll-”

                “You’ll what?” He tone was contemptuous and his eyes reflected a mocking humor.

                She stared. _Good god. How long had it been since she’d wanted to hit somebody this badly?_ A twitch was the only sign of her agitation she allowed to show. Clearing her throat she smiled. “Call me _woman_ again…and I’ll put a new bullet in you. And this time, I’ll leave it there.” Cocking her head with a thoughtful look, she added on, “or better yet, I can just pump you full of buckshot.” She gestured to the sawed off shotgun in her grasp.

                She was unsurprised by his doubting stare, but was still agitated by his dismissive snort of disbelief when he rolled his eyes. She opened her mouth to fire off a scathing remark, but was silenced when he suddenly shot her a questioning glare. She frowned at the look. _What?_

“Why am I on this…decrepit piece of furniture?” He spat with obvious annoyance.

                She stared at him and could not keep a single brow from raising at his words. _Decrepit piece of…_ “I moved you.” She stated in a matter of fact tone.

                “How?” His follow up question had been fired off so quickly, she knew he’d already expected her response.

                Her annoyance shifted to confusion briefly, before a slow and deviously smug smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “You mean you don’t remember?”

                She watched the slight narrowing of his eyes as he searched his memories and slowly his hand raised to his neck.

                “You.” His eyes flicked back up to her own with such force she nearly back peddled. For a moment, the smirk on her face nearly fell as she found herself pinned by his murderous stare. “You drugged me.”

                _Still,_ the situation was much too far in her favor for her to back down now. And so, her smug expression stayed and her grey eyes stared back at his blue steel in lazy satisfaction. “That I did.”

                Pivoting on her heel, she ignored the vehement glare on her back and returned to her task. She was oblivious to the promises of retribution Kyoya made to himself.

 

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                After a rather disappointing lunch—a ham and grilled cheese sandwich—she’d left the cabin, much like she had the day before. Her _puppy_ followed, leaving him to his own devices. It took him a few minutes, but after an arduous battle he managed to pull himself from the couch. _Wretched woman…_ Placing his bare feet on the scuffed wooden floor boards, he glared at nothing and everything at once. He’d gotten used to his former position in the bed and it annoyed him now that he wasn’t there, but as he took in his surroundings he realized that while not his preferred place of rest, being on this side of the room had its perks. For one, the bathroom door was only a few steps away, but he ignored that fact in favor of the second perk. To his left was the table of mostly useless junk. He said mostly _only_ because, his own things were also still present on its surface. If he leaned forward, he could see where his box weapon and tonfa—one still extended—laid haphazardly amongst a varying assortment of junk. 

                Closing his eyes, he sighed as he prepared himself.  Lunging forward, he stretched into his full height, his weight resting on the pads of his feet. He flinched and bit back a grunt of pain. Still, he was pleased to note that the pain was less than what he’d experienced two nights ago. Even without an audience he refused to show weakness and carefully made his way to the table, which was thankfully a mere five steps away. _Yes_ , the couch was definitely a better access point, but he’d never admit that aloud.

                Standing over the table, he immediately grabbed up his tonfa, collapsing the one she’d been fiddling with the previous day, and tossing them both onto his “bed.” Spreading his hand wide, he grabbed all three of his boxes and made to return to the cushion of no return, but something made him stop and look back. _A photo._ It was in one of the boxes, along with several others. A casual glance down and he read the name on the box: ‘Mom.’ Picking up the photo, he stared at its three occupants. The first was a man, in perhaps his late twenties, Caucasian with a ruddy tan, dark blonde hair in a buzz cut and cool grey eyes. A faint smile tugged at the man’s lips and his arms were wrapped around a woman of similar age who was several shades darker than himself.  She was noticeably pretty and grinning unabashedly at the camera. Her curled ebony hair, dark eyes, and caramel colored skin while darker, was reminiscent of the man that stood next to the them. He was at least twenty years older than the couple with greying dark hair and features that were obviously Native American. He leaned heavily on a cane and while not smiling, seemed proud as he stood alongside what Kyoya was beginning to suspect was his daughter and her boyfriend? _Husband?_ He wasn’t sure and he really didn’t care enough to put any more thought into it.

                There were several more photos of them in the box and quite a few of them were taken in this very cabin, he even noticed, _much to his ire_ , the navy blue monstrosity in one. Yet, despite all the pictures, _in not one_ , did the woman— _Charlie_ —ever show up. It was odd. After seeing so many of them, he’d come to the conclusion that these were pictures of her mother, father, and possibly a grandfather. He’d been staring at the photos for about five minutes when he no longer cared to look at them. Tossing the last photo back into the box, he began to return to the couch when he suddenly stilled. Being vertical instead of horizontal as he had for the past several hours had alerted his body to a now desperate need. Kyoya scowled as he was unexpectedly rerouted to the bathroom. _Yes_ , the couch was definitely more suitable to his needs…no matter how much he hated it.

 

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                When she returned Dakota was still following at her heels and inwardly she laughed at it. He was being protective. Ever since he’d figured out the suspicious man was in her house, he’d taken to following her around and always placing himself between her and whatever direction her weirdo houseguest was in. As amused as she was, she knew it wouldn’t be long before it became a problem. She’d just set her shotgun on the table, when Dakota brushed past her and padded into the living room. She sighed heavily when she heard his growling.

                Walking in, she prepared to chastise the canine when an odd sight greeted her. Dakota was growling at Kyoya, but not attacking, in fact Kyoya seemed unperturbed as he appeared to still be sleeping. No, she supposed what Dakota found offending was the small creature that was resting on Kyoya’s chest. Stepping into the room, she stared as it rose and fell with the man’s relaxed breathing, its eyes squeezed shut tightly, it seemed to be just as unconscious as the man it rested upon. Still, it wasn’t the situation that was odd, but rather the creature itself. A hedgehog is what her mind wanted to tell her, but even so…what kind of hedgehog…had a _purple_ back? She was certain that the color she was seeing between its spikes was purple. And that was another thing…whatever type of hedgehog this was, she was positive that it was supposed to have quills, not spikes.

                Gawking in undisguised fascination, she reached out and plucked the tiny creature from his chest. Dakota ceased his growling only to whine and look up at her. She held it by a spike and was unsurprised when it held strong. Lifting it to her face, she studied it more closely. It was rather cute, she supposed, if not kind of weird. She was still gaping at it when it woke up. Suddenly it was staring back at her with wide black eyes. She felt it tense up and fly into a panic. “Whoa. Wait! Wai- Ouch! Damnit!”

                Instinctively her fingers released the small creature as the pain registered. The damned thing had stabbed her finger with the surprisingly sharp end of one of its spikes.  Almost a second later after she’d released it, panic set in and she realized that she had dropped a tiny creature several feet above the floor. Eyes wide, her gaze dropped down and she flinched.

                The hedgehog was safe— _nestled in Kyoya’s grasp—_ his arm extended. Her surprised stare met his accusing steel blue. “What are you doing?” His voice was cool and sharp.

                It took her a moment, but she composed herself as he brought the odd hedgehog back to his torso where it seemed to huddle, a slight tremor giving away its fear. Guilt began to surface, but she shoved it down in favor of ignoring his question and asking her own. “What the hell is that thing? I _mean_ , it looks, for the _most_ part like a hedgehog, but I’ve never seen a hedgehog with purple skin and spikes for quills. It’s weird.”

                He was silent for a long moment, glaring at her the whole time, but eventually he answered. “ _It_ is a _he_. As for his species, you’ve already stated it twice. Roll is a hedgehog.”

                She took this bit of information in, mildly amused by the creature’s name, but not distracted enough by it to ignore its strangeness. And so she let her gaze fall onto the shivering creature again. She was forced stamp down the sudden rush of guilt yet again. “… _right_. And where did this mutant hedgehog _come from_?”

                She twitched in agitation when he didn’t respond. Instead he allowed a slow, teasing smirk to spread across his face, his eyes closing as he relaxed back into the pillow. _Bastard._

“Right. Fine. I probably don’t want to know anyway.” She headed back towards the kitchen. “C’mon.” She called to Dakota and he grudgingly followed.

                “You live here by yourself.” His voice cut across the room without warning.

                She looked back at him in confusion, but he continued before she could question him. “Where’s the rest of your family?”

                “My family?” She narrowed her eyes. “What do _you_ know about my family?”

                “The photos.” He gestured over his shoulder. She followed the motion to the table and her eyes narrowed further. “Several of the photos were taken here, but there’s no sign that anyone aside from you lives here.”

                Slowly, the displeasure drained from her face and a strangely sober expression appeared, it was free of the annoyance and smugness he’d grown used to seeing. “They’re dead.” She turned to leave again, but he prevented her once more.

                “How?”

                Agitated, she growled out, “Why do you care?”

                “I don’t.”

                “Then why the fuck ask?” She yelled.

                “I’m bored. I’m lacking in entertainment.”

                “Entertai—I don’t have to entertain you, you _jackass_! It’s not my job and I sure as hell wouldn’t entertain you even if my life depended on it.” She bit out bitterly.

                He shrugged then and allowed himself to sink back into the couch. “Then don’t.”

                She growled to herself in annoyance. Turning away, she suddenly found her heated stare held by Dakota as he stared up at her hesitantly. She gave a start and then as if deflated, she let the anger leave her.   _Really_ …she wondered now… _what could it hurt?_ “Fine.” She looked back at the man lounging on her grandfather’s couch.

                Slowly, his lids lifted and he stared at her apathetically. “You _are_ aware that I don’t actually have an interest in knowing about your family, right?”

                “Oh I’m very aware.”

                “Then why bother?”

                “Because you asked…and because I hope it bores the hell out of you.” She finished vehemently.

                He watched her for several moments before snorting and letting his head drop back to the pillow, his eyes staring at the ceiling. “Then by all means, bore me.”

                She clenched her jaw and glared at him. _Asswipe._ With hurried steps, she walked over to her bed and sat down. Dakota followed and stared up at her curiously. She ignored the wolf and continued to scowl at the man on the other side of the room. After a moment, his head turned to face her, “You’re taking too long.”

                Charlie narrowed her eyes. “I’m getting to it!”

                “Then get to it faster. I may not be going anywhere, but I could be doing something more productive with my time.”

                _Was he serious? “_ Like _what?”_ The disbelieving tone was practically flung at him.

                He shot her a look, before returning his gaze to the ceiling. “Like sleeping.”

                Her scowl deepened and she fought the urge to throw something. She told herself that he wasn’t worth it, although her agitation said otherwise. Sighing deeply, she forced herself to relax and she pondered where to begin.

                He’d opened his mouth to speak again when she cut him off. “My mother…” He stared at her then looked away. “…she was half Native American, half Caribbean. When her mother married my grandfather there were some… _differences of opinion_. Anyway, it resulted in my grandmother being cut off from her family. So I don’t know anything about that part of my family to begin with. My grandmother passed away when my mother was still young, so I never knew what she was like. In fact…” She paused and her gaze fell to the floor, her eyes clouded in thought. “I never knew my mother either. She died in child birth. I was raised by my dad and my grandfather.”

                “Dad…really didn’t have a clue as to raising a girl, but he tried and I’d like to think I could’ve turned out worse.” She ignored his snort and pushed on. “Granddad was always in the background, helping out when my dad was lost, but I suppose that was to be expected as he had already brought up my mother.” An amused smile had come over her face, but it faded quickly into a frown as she pressed on. “When I was eighteen, a few weeks before I started college, my grandfather passed in his sleep. He didn’t even get to see me start.” She could feel his eyes on her and she pretended it didn’t bother her.

                “I was still in school when my father developed his heart problems.” She looked up from the floor, but refused to meet his gaze. “The doctors said he needed surgery. …So he went under the knife.”

                “It didn’t go well and he died of complications.” Steeling herself, her eyes flickered over to meet his. “So there. That’s them and they’re all dead.”

                She wasn’t sure how to feel as he stared back at her. She was used to most reactions after she told this story. The most common reaction was pity and it was one she was tired of. It wasn’t as if their pity could help, so she always felt like they should just save it for someone who needed it. But, pity was nothing like the expression on Kyoya’s face. Kyoya’s face hadn’t changed at all. It was the same apathetic stare he’d given her at the beginning…and it pissed her off.

                “The wolves.”

                She blinked. “What?”

                “You didn’t mention the wolves.”

                She scowled, “Should I have?”

                He gave her a bland stare and his gaze moved to Dakota, who’d lain at her feet and was watching him with unveiled suspicion. “He’s not the only one on these lands. There’s an entire pack…and you seem quite… _friendly_ with them.”

                She raised an eyebrow at his observation before scoffing. “You _are_ in the wilderness of Montana,” she stated matter-of-factly.

                He snorted. “That doesn’t explain your ease of interaction with them.”

                She shrugged. “We grew up around each other.”

                His eyes narrowed. “How is that?”

                She sighed. “This land…it’s been in my grandfather’s family for a long while. When my mother was of age, she made it into an animal sanctuary of sorts. Even after she passed, my dad and my grandfather kept it up.” _And so had she,_ went unsaid.

                He seemed to except this and he shifted to look pointedly at her feet. “And your pet?”

                “He’s not a pet.” She retaliated.

                “He’s absurdly well behaved for a wolf, so if not a _pet_ , then what else could he be?” He made a point and she knew it, so she gave him the honest answer.

                Sighing, she stood. “Dakota… _is_ my family.”

                He didn’t stop her this time when she left the room. He did, however, smirk in amusement when the wolf growled warningly at him before following behind her. Regardless of what she said, the animal still behaved like a pet.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_~Elsewhere~_

               

                The ham like fist slammed onto the table with a weighty thump. “Where is he?” The owner of the meaty fist hissed out, his accent corrupting his English spoken words. The man was shrouded in darkness, the room’s only light coming from a dimly lit bulb in the center of the room.

                In front of him, a group of men shifted nervously, all dressed in uniform black suits. One stood out from the others, literally, standing a few feet closer to the large man’s desk. He was the one who spoke up. “We still haven’t found him, sir.”

                “What am I paying you fools for?” The man cried with crookedly pronounced words.

                “Sir, given the extensive amount of wounds the target had, it was only a matter of time before he died of exposure.”

                “And yet, you’ve yet to produce a body! What if he’s recovered?”

                “That’s extremely unlikely. He was in the middle of nowhere, there’s nothing but uninhabited woods for miles.”

                “Then why do I not have his body lying in front of me?” His accent thickened as he yelled.

                The mercenary leader had the decency to look abashed for a moment before clearing his throat. “Well, sir…it _is_ several miles of wilderness. It could take some time for us to find him…and even still, it’s likely that we may never find a body.”

                “And why is this?” The question was lowly hissed.

                The mercenary chose his words carefully. “My men have reported several sightings of wolves in the area. As you know, sir, wolves are scavengers just as much as they are hunters. If they find the body before us…there’s no telling what might be left to find.”

                The man behind the desk was silent for a moment, before an amused chuckle was released. “As amusing as the idea of Vongola’s strongest fighter getting eaten by wolves _is_ , it can not be allowed.” The amusement fled just as quickly as it came. “I want the body of Kyoya Hibari at my feet!” Even with his accent mangled words, his intent could not be misunderstood as he added on. “You have four days. You had best not disappoint me.”

                “Yes sir.”  The mercenary swallowed thickly.

                “Good. Now leave me!”

                They fled the dark room.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

_~Back in Japan~_

“Kusakabe-san!”

                Tetsuya turned at the voice, a hopeful expression on his face, “Anything?” he asked the associate.

                The young man cringed. “No sir. I’m sorry sir.”

                Tetsuya sighed and the young associate, Nobu, he was named, continued. “We tracked the call back to a diner in Nevada, several miles north of Las Vegas, but that’s as far as we’ve gotten.”

                Tetsuya grimaced at the news and Nobu frowned at the paperwork in his hands. “It’s like Hibari-san just vanished.”

                With a heavy sigh, the former vice-captain of the disciplinary committee sincerely hoped that he had not.


	8. Health and Hygenics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie's doctoring skills are only slightly nicer than her bedside manners.

**The Nature of the Beast**

 

**_Chapter Seven: Health & Hygenics_ **

****

                Stepping off the jet, Tetsuya was mildly disappointed by the very empty desert that greeted his sight. Sure, the private air strip featured a large warehouse and control tower, but aside from that, the fenced off patch of property was surrounded by mostly blank space. The only places were the desert wasn’t unoccupied was where a tenacious weedy looking shrub sprouted up. There might have been a cactus or few out there too, but he wasn’t about to study the lay of the land while in his current situation.

 _The current situation._ Tetsuya let out a weary sigh. _Kyo-san had seemingly vanished. And it would seem_ , he thought as he glanced around, _so had his jet._ Tetsuya, himself had flown over in their previously used jet. It wasn’t an old model, rather Kyo-san had simply preferred a custom made aircraft over the standard and so a new jet had been acquired. Taking a look around, he decided to occupy himself and question an employee—although he knew Nobu had already done so—while he waited for his cab.

“Excuse me!” He called to a working man in faded blue coveralls and sandy blonde hair; he’d been painting the control tower a pale cream color.

The man took a moment to set down the paint brush before running over, a friendly smile in place. “Need some help with something?” He yelled back and there was a faint accent that Tetsuya couldn’t place, unfamiliar with American dialects as he was. He was a young man, a few years younger than Kyo-san, he’d bet, with pale skin and cheerful green eyes.

Tetsuya waited for him to reach him before he continued their dialogue. He began with the first thing to occur to him. “You don’t get out much do you?” He gestured at the man’s pale skin. Like a typical desert setting, the sun was intense and likely to tan a person quickly.

Joey, the name tag on his coveralls read, blinked for a moment, taken aback, but then he just grinned and let out a short laugh. “I do, I’m just used to pulling night shifts in Vegas. I just started this job a few days ago.”

 _Damn._ Tetsuya tried not to let his disappointment show and pressed on with his questions, just in case, “I see. That in mind, I don’t suppose you’ve seen a jet just loitering around, possibly around the time you were hired?”

Joey blinked and his eyes rolled upwards as he picked at his memory. “Mmmm, no, can’t say that I have. There’s been a few jets that’ve come and gone, but none that just sat. At least not since I’ve been here.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, man.”

Tetsuya waved the apology off. “Don’t worry about it. I was just curious.”

“Oh, well. If that’s all you wanted, I _kinda_ have to get back to work.” He gestured over his shoulder, back towards the control tower. He was already leaning his body into turning to it; Tetsuya waved at him dismissively with a nod and he jogged back to his painting.

It was perfect timing too; his cab was just pulling into view. Frustrated, but determined, he chewed vigorously at the twig between his teeth. He had no idea where his boss was or what had even happened, but he _would_ find out, even if it meant doing the footwork himself. And that meant, Vegas was first on his list.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                “You need a bath.”

                With that one simple sentence, Charlie had begun a lengthy debate that she feared would never end. For some reason the man seemed completely against being hygienic; something she couldn’t— _for the life of her_ —understand. He’d been lying about, stewing in his own filth for days, _and probably_ days _before that,_ she realized. After all, he hadn’t looked all that great when she first found him to begin with and despite cleaning his wounds, it really wasn’t the same as bathing. And when she told him as much his glower only intensified.

                “ _Seriously,_ just take a damned shower.”

                “For the last time, you insistent harpy,” he ignored her insulted scowl, “I don’t feel like it.”

                She opened her mouth to tell him how childish he was being for the umpteenth time, but he cut her off. “And despite your assertion of my health, you seem to have forgotten that I’m covered in _bandages—_ bandages that will undoubtedly get wet and cause my wounds to agitate should I take a shower.” His scowl was far more vehement than her own insulted scowl.

                _Smartass._ She rolled her eyes in response, before giving him a falsely pleasant smile. “Well, not that it matters. The bandages can get soaked for all I care; they were going to come off anyway.” She continued at his look of confused agitation, “I need to give you an exam.”

                “An exam?” He questioned her dubiously, eyeing her as though he doubted her capable of the deed.

                She narrowed her eyes, “Yes, _Kyoya_ , an exam. You’ve been doing a lot of moving about for someone with your injuries and if you remember, I _am_ the one who patched you up the first time.”

                Kyoya snorted. “You hardly seem the doctoring type.”

                She twitched. He was getting on her last nerve. She gave him a wolfish grin, her teeth barred in a hostile fashion. “I’m not.”

                He frowned at her and she continued, “If you must know. I’m not a doctor. I’m a veterinarian technician.”

                He processed this for a moment and her grin only grew as his expression shifted to one of disgust. She could hardly guess what he was thinking, but she didn’t care, she was all-too satisfied by the thought of having gotten a new reaction out of him.

                “You’re barely qualified to work on animals and yet you opt to preform minor surgery on _me_?” His expression was no longer one of disgust, but one of utter contempt.

                “Considering who my patient was, I’d like to think being _‘barely qualified’_ worked out just fine.”

                His eyes narrowed dangerously, “And just what do you mean by that?”

                She smiled deviously. “Well, just that if it _looks_ like an animal, _behaves_ like an animal, _smells_ like an animal,” she gave him a pointed look, “it must be…an animal.”

                Just when she thought his look of contempt could get no worse…she was swiftly proven wrong. She felt the urge to laugh, but that urge dwindled suddenly when his expression began to shift into something unsettling. He was smiling. It wasn’t a normal smile either. It was mocking.

                “And I suppose you would know all about animals, wouldn’t you? You and your _pet_ _family._ Where is the mutt, anyway?”

                The smile dropped off her face instantly. She stared at him blankly, as every ounce of her control was placed into _not_ decking him that very instant.

Charlene Thompson, better known as Charlie, had never been known for her self-control, her record spoke of that clearly enough. She’d had a case of aggravated assault and another of assault and battery slapped on it before she even graduated high school. She’d been in numerous bar fights in her short life and had taken several cheap shots at people who had pissed her off—to be honest, if not for the fact that majority of her fights had gone unreported she’d probably be locked up right now. It also didn’t hurt that her father had been sheriff at the time of most of her _violent pursuits_. She had tried to clean up and calm down after he passed away. Her success at this had been spotty.

Yet, here a miracle was taking place as sure enough she was managing her anger, bottling it away for a day when the bastard _really_ deserved it—for a day when he _wasn’t_ suffering from several damaged ribs and recuperating from being on death’s door. In all honesty, it wasn’t her self-control that kept her calm, but her fear of guilt. She didn’t like guilt, she wasn’t always affected by it, but when it got to her, it _really_ got to her. And the last person she ever wanted to feel guilty towards was _Hibari Kyoya._ _That Jackass._

She took a breath first and carefully reset her emotions to the best of her abilities. “Don’t change the subject.” She narrowed her eyes. “But if you must know…as he is not a _pet_ , he went out to hunt because I don’t feed him.”

Inwardly, she preened as he scowled. She hadn’t taken the bait— _though everything in her screamed to do it—_ and the result was an almost sulking Kyoya. “Now,” she began with a pointed look, “You’re going to take a show or else.”

“Or else what?” He’d slumped back down into the couch and had redirected his gaze back to the ceiling. He was bored with her now.

“Or else you will be given a very treacherous sponge bath.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leveled an inarguable stare on him.

Of course, he did argue. He slid an incredulous stare her way. “And just _how_ is a sponge bath treacherous?”

“ _So_ glad you asked.” She smiled thinly. “I have no sponge. Not even for dishwashing. In fact the closest thing I own is a steel wool _brillo pad_. Therefore” she paused for dramatic effect. “Unless you want to be _scrubbed clean_ by fine strips of metal, I suggest you go take a shower.” With that said she turned on her heel and headed for the rear of the cabin.

She was stopped by his call, “Wo-”

No sooner had the first syllable left his mouth, did he hear the metallic click of a hammer being cocked back. He narrowed his eyes at the gun in her hand and his face twisted into a distasteful frown, “…Charlie.” He said her name for the first time and it was spoken with an awkward and mocking edge. His lips had twisted into a scowl at his unfamiliarity with and obvious dislike of speaking the name.

She shot him an odd stare, mildly amused at his reaction. The way he behaved, it was like merely saying her name had put a bad taste in his mouth. It was laughable really and so she allowed a small smile to rise in the corner of her mouth. She looked at him with a brow raised in askance.

His gaze sharpened on her and she noticed his face was no longer colored by distaste, “Four days ‘til.”

She stared, confused. “Four days until what?” she trailed off in continued befuddlement, “Sunday?”

“Until the end of the week.”

“…okay. _And?”_ She shot him an annoyed glare.

A smile—no, a smirk—dragged across his face and she cringed, “Have you forgotten my promise already?”

She frowned for a moment, but then a dark, spiteful glare formed on her face. “You know what? Go ahead. _Bite me._ ”

He cocked his head.

“I’ll be waiting for it.”

He raised an eyebrow and a gleam entered his eyes. Mentally she raged at the look of challenge seen there.

“But until then…” she continued, “ _Please_ …carry your psychotic ass into the bathroom and take a fucking shower.” She left the room then.

A few minutes later, she heard him getting up from the couch. _Charlie-1, Bastard-0._ Feeling a bit smug, she raised her head from the fridge for a glimpse of her unwilling patient, but when she met his gaze and saw the smirk on his face, her victory suddenly felt very shallow. He may have gone into the bathroom—the sound of running water confirming the shower—but that look of his had her questioning if she’d truly won. _Stupid bastard._

                After taking a moment to curse his existence, she snatched a bottle of water from the fridge and headed towards the medical bay, only to pause. She was sure it wasn’t just her imagination, a shadow at the corner of her vision. Slowly, she glanced back from her peripheral vision, tilting her head ever so slightly. There was something there. Snatching the gun from her waistband, she turned around quickly and aimed…

                …only to lower the weapon considerably. She was indeed being followed, just not by what she was expecting. The Smith and Wesson handgun was leveled at a small tiny creature that promptly squeaked and tucked itself into a ball at the sight of the weapon. _The mutant hedgehog._ She stared for a long moment and slowly she frowned _. What kind of hedgehog recognized a gun? Or had it just been frightened by the feeling of her intent?_ She decided that that must be it as the first thought was too weird an option for her to consider. Still frowning, she returned the gun to her waistband and crouched over the small animal. Gently, she prodded its side with a finger. It flinched and only balled tighter. Sighing, she spoke to it without thinking, “Hey, relax. I’m not going to hurt you. …the hell do I look like shooting a hedgehog.” She muttered towards the end before blinking. _Why the hell was she talking to a_ hedgehog _?_

Standing with a sigh, she shook her head and continued on to the back of the cabin. “Stupid jackasses and their mutant hedgehogs….”

She was unaware that the animal in question had uncurled itself and had continued to follow behind her stealthily. When she’d finally gotten situated in the room, she was disturbed to find it sitting by the door…staring up at her… _watching her. Creepy._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                She was poking at Roll’s side when he found her. The hedgehog was flinching and squishing its body against the wall in effort to avoid her prodding. Still, it was surprising that he hadn’t out right fled. He was just about to comment when Roll had finally had enough. He held in an amused snort, not willing to announce his presence just yet, when Roll suddenly turned his head and chomped down with his two front vampire-like teeth.

                “Ow!” She snatched her hand back. She raised her hand to strike, “You son of a!-

                “What the hell are you doing?” His voice had been calm and without any emphasis, but her reaction was so strong that it seemed as though he yelled.

                She jumped to her feet and stared at him with wide eyes. She seemed to calm down as she realized just who had spoken to her and already he could see the surly reply forming on her lips, but she paused then. He felt more than saw her gaze wander over his form. He’d left the bathroom in merely a towel and both his skin and hair still dripped with collected moisture. He was vaguely familiar with the feel of a woman’s appraising gaze and so he was mildly amused when her own gaze quickly shifted from one of appreciating the opposite gender to one of detached clinical observation. Her eyes weren’t wandering over the toned planes of musculature beneath his pale skin, but rather intensively focused on the raised, discolored, and puckered flesh of mending tissue.

                After a moment, she seemed to shrug off his question and gestured to the examination table. He scowled at the table, another four feet away. He was already agitated by having to walk all the way to the back of the building as it was. Scowl still firmly in place; he carefully stepped over to the table and with painstaking gentleness settled himself on its surface. He’d barely been sitting there for a whole thirty seconds when he noticed her staring rather intently as his lap, the towel to be more precise. Before he could comment however, she spoke up, “I forgot you don’t have any other clothes.”

                His snide reply came without hesitation, “That may have been something to consider beforehand, don’t you think?”

                The response she gave him was a vehement glare that carried the undercurrent message for him to shut up. Unimpressed, he let out a derisive snort. Sighing with a roll of her eyes, she added, “I’ll find you something to wear when we’re done.”

                When he chose not to comment, she commenced the examination. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, she spent the next ten to fifteen minutes poking and prodding at his wounds. She also made sure to closely, but surprisingly gently, inspect his mending ribs by hand as she was without an X-ray machine. He noted with some slight alarm, the frown that had begun to gradually form on her face. Whatever comments she had, she kept them to herself even as she rewrapped his wounds. Afterwards, however, she stared up at him with a look akin to confused fascination.

                “You’ve healed quite well.” She began, “disturbingly well. The healing rate that your body is showing is— _frankly_ —completely unnatural.”  She wanted answers and part of him was amused by the fact that she actually thought he’d give them to her.

                He didn’t, of course. Instead, he responded with, “You can’t expect me to heal on the same level of _feeble herbivores_ ,” his tone full of disdain.

                Removing her gloves with a snap, she returned the comment with, “Oh? So you’re not _just_ a jackass, you’re a _superhuman_ jackass?”

                _Annoying woman._ He glared at her dryly.

                She stared back. “Get the fuck off my table.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                The visible twitch in his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes coupled with the tensing of his shoulders and she was sure he was going to attack her. But then the bastard started to smile and then…then the bastard _laughed_. It was a low chuckle, dark and amused, but as he slid off the table, careful not to jar his ribs, she caught his gaze and his eyes were anything but amused. She nearly scrambled off the stool at what she found in his gaze. His eyes were so much like that of a mad beast, unreachable by logic or even nature and wanted for only one thing: violence.

                She sat there for a few minutes after his bare feet had padded back to the front of the cabin. A moment later and she shuddered.  She resigned to herself that her houseguest was indeed a weirdo and possibly psychotic—not even his well-honed physique could change that—but that was not what had disturbed her. What had shaken her was not the look itself, but the fact that for a moment— _for just a moment_ —she _understood_ that look.

                She refused to linger on that thought any longer than necessary and stood from her seat with a sudden leap. She glanced around the room, one last check for organization. Everything was in place and she noticed with a small smile, the strange hedgehog was quietly scuttling behind it’s… _owner?_ Well, she assumed he was its owner, after all she doubted he just tamed a stray hedgehog overnight. Of course that begged the question: _where had the creature come from?_ The man had been completely alone when she found him in the woods and it was quite unlikely that it had followed her from there to the cabin. The wolves would have plucked the poor creature from the dry foliage—quills or not—without a second thought. However, the more she thought about it, the more she simply decided she didn’t want to know.

                Dismissing the thoughts from her mind, she left the medic bay behind and stepped into the small business office and headed for a door in the corner of the room. It led to what had once been her father’s room, but was now just a simple storage room. His things, however, could still be found there and it was for that reason that she sifted through box after box before she finally found what she was looking for. Clothes.

                She returned to the living room with a simple pair of pajama pants. A part of her was a bit miffed to realize that her father and Kyoya were of similar builds, but she squashed that to the back of her mind and chose to acknowledge the good in this; he wouldn’t have to prance around in his birthday suit for the remainder of his stay. _Not that she really expected the man to prance anywhere,_ she added onto her thoughts as she tossed him the navy colored bundle. She watched as he quietly plucked the pajama pants from the cushion next to him and lifted them for his inspection. 

His gaze slowly drifted to her as he lowered the clothing. “These belonged to your father.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yea and?”

He seemed to believe there was a problem with this and raised an eyebrow at her.

She huffed, “Like it really matters. They’re clean. And besides, they haven’t been worn in years. Either way, you don’t have much of a choice. Because, frankly, it’s either _his_ clothes or _my_ clothes…and I really don’t think you want to wear my clothes.” She didn’t add the thought that she’d rather burn her clothes than share them with him.

He scowled, but when he didn’t protest and instead stood to dress himself, she assumed all was accepted—although she did shake her head at his stubborn stupidity; standing had to be one of the worst ways to put on pants with his rib injuries. Heading into the kitchen to prepare dinner, she snorted and a bit of laughter escaped her at his sudden pained grunt. He had of course attempted to put on the pants in the normal fashion… _dumbass._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                Back down in Vegas, progress was being made. Tetsuya was pleased when one of the four men he’d had fly over ahead of himself managed to dig up something the very same day of his arrival. Apparently, they’d found a cab driver. This cab driver had been fired under the suspicion of driving under the influence after he reported witnessing a giant purple ball with silver spikes and a frightening Asian man.


	9. Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyouya is curious about Charlie's good samaritan act and Tetsuya makes progress.

**The Nature of the Beast**

 

**_Chapter Eight: Why?_ **

****

                It annoyed him to say so, but he was fast becoming accustomed to American cuisine…or perhaps _backwoods-American_ cuisine— _whatever_ it was the woman was setting in front of him. He’d never been overly knowledgeable about the variances of American cuisine and was therefore lacking the knowledge needed to know just what category his meals fell under. Either way, he supposed chicken, string beans, and rice hadn’t been too hard for him to stomach—although he had been greatly annoyed by the rice—not glutinous as it was—it refused to stick and therefore fell grain by grain easily, unlike the tightly clumped and easily transportable grain he was used to. It was the first time his wrathful irritation had been directed at a food item. Odd when one considered the irony of the fact that he—as a self-proclaimed predator—was constantly biting to death his prey after they had annoyed him…but he’d never _actually_ eaten them. Yet, here there was, an edible food item that had secured his irritation. _Yes_ …Hibari Kyoya was annoyed by a portion of rice.

                And it was with the realization of this that Kyoya knew he had a problem. It wasn’t the woman’s fault… _he supposed_ …it was her society’s norm to serve non glutinous rice…and so it was with the country— _America_ , that Kyoya had a problem with. As it was, by the end of dinner Kyoya was sure that America had reached third place on his list of Things and People to ultimately detest. Spots number one and two were respectively claimed by Rokudo Mukuro and Cherry Blossoms; _sometimes they switched or shared spots depending on the situation._

                He was still contemplating his newly developed hate of the U.S. when the woman stepped from the bathroom and drifted across his field of vision, dressed for bed in fitted dark shorts and a similarly colored tank top. He refocused his gaze on her as she secured her hair with an elastic tie, flopped down onto her bed and immediately checked to confirm that the clip of her Beretta was indeed full.  When she finished she slid the weapon beneath her pillow and followed up by confirming that the tranquilizer gun placed on her nightstand was indeed loaded and ready for use, should the need arise. He narrowed his eyes on her when she looked up at him while looking the dart gun over. Without a word she slid under the covers and turned off the lamp, bathing the room in darkness. It was however, only a temporary darkness as his eyes adjusted to the pale and dim light provided by the moon shining through the window behind her bed.

                He was still staring at her five minutes later—waiting for her to drift off with her back to the wall as usual. He’d awaken in the night plenty of times to know that she always slept that way. Of course, Charlie was staring right back at him this time. Kyoya, for the most part, had slept most of the day away—not counting dinner and his torturous shower and pointless exam—and was therefore rested well enough to stay awake for several more hours. His rather poor host, on the other hand, seemed rather exhausted, as evidenced by the glaring, but barely held open eyes she directed at him. He was actually mildly surprised when she let out an annoyed— _possibly defeated_ —huff and turned away from his unending stare. A smirk slid across his face as he watched her change her sleeping habit for what might have been the first time in years…all because of _him._

                He’d still been staring in her direction— _although not actually watching her_ —when he noticed the change in her form. He’d never actually seen the transition before, so he’d never paid it any attention, but as she drifted deeper into unconsciousness, he could see her body relax, the tenseness held in her shoulders fall lax and the stilled motion in her legs become fluid as she stretched in her slumber. He’d never thought about it until now, but the way she held her body…she was ready… _always_ ready. It was as if she was expecting something to just leap out at her. With a narrowed and suspicious gaze, Kyoya glared at her. He shouldn’t care…he didn’t _want_ to care, but he was in a very unusual predicament, one that made him— _in a very_ minuscule _fashion_ —dependent on her.

                She was…well…she wasn’t _hiding_ anything from him per say, but there was definitely something about her background that he didn’t know. A large part of him doubted it was even vaguely important, however, _another part_ , small as it was, was rather noisy in its protest that something was _off_. He blamed it on curiosity…and _that_ …well , _that_ he blamed on his boredom. Again, for what must be the thousandth time since he’d stumbled upon that rain soaked forest, he cursed who ever had had the gall to hunt him down. They were the ones to blame for this, for his boredom based curiosity, his experience with agitating cuisine, and his suffering at the hands of one wretched woman. Yes, this person was to blame for everything.

                And he would take great pleasure in tearing out their throat… _perhaps literally this time around_. With an irritated growl, he slumped back into the couch almost petulantly and attempted to force himself back to slumber—the dark curtain of sleep preferred to his inactive surroundings. He couldn’t help, but think as he fell into a light doze, that _the sooner he healed…or the sooner they found him—whichever came first—the better it would be._

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                With sure steps that belied his uneasiness, Tetsuya crossed the gravel lot and climbed the few stone steps of the only rest stop to be found for miles, a wide pastel blue diner on an even larger lot—it was surprisingly just several miles down the road from the airstrip. With a feeling of resignation, he pulled at the diner’s doors and stepped into the over air-conditioned environment.

                He was greeted with the expected sight of a mostly empty restaurant, most of its clientele being of the _Trucker_ persuasion. He’d barely taken two steps before an overzealous waitress pounced on him, “How can I help you?” The enthusiasm in her voice and the overly cheery expression gave Tetsuya pause.

                He hesitated a moment longer before clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, I’m not actually here to eat. I am, however,” he added at her look of disappointed confusion, “in need of your assistance.”

                Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, Brenda—a quick look at her name tag provided him with her name—spoke, “Go on.”

                “About a week and a half ago—eight days to be precise, an associate of mine had supposedly visited this diner at about this time. Like myself, he was Japanese,” he ignored her look of surprised disbelief; like most people she’d assumed he was American due to his uncanny resemblance to an Elvis impersonator, “and likely dressed in a black suit.”

                Brenda was quiet for a moment, her eyes narrowing on Tetsuya’s own suit before a shrewd look entered her gaze. “Was he wearing a purple dress shirt?”

                “Yes!” Tetsuya couldn’t help the relieved smile that crossed his face; the same smile that quickly faltered when her lips twisted into a scowl.

                “Then we’re talking about the same man who not only skipped out on his bill, but on my tip!”

                He blinked. _Well that was unexpected._

“I _assume_ , given that you seem to be far more well-mannered than your associate, that you will be covering his bill and my tip, of course,” she added with a sharp glare.

                “Ah hah, of course.” He tried not to allow himself to lean back from the ferocity of her gaze as he reached for his wallet. “I’ll get right on that, but I was more concerned with if you had any idea about his departure.”

                She snorted as she took his credit card. “Sure I do. He took off with that blonde hussy of a truck driver.”

                Tetsuya blinked. _Blonde hussy of a….a truck driver?_ Tetsuya was suddenly confused as he attempted to imagine just what would inspire Kyoya to take off with a truck driver of all people.

                Cutting off Brenda’s rant, “…that bimbo kept staring at him the _whole_ time—thought the woman was gonna jump his bones any moment-” and choosing not to comment on the similarities of her own approach mere moments ago, he interjected with, “I don’t suppose you saw which way they went?”

                Handing him back his credit card with her left, she gestured back and over her head with her right hand, “That way, hun. She went North up the highway.”

                Pocketing his card, he gave her a polite smile, “Thank you for your help.”

                “No problem, hun. Thanks for the tip.” She gave him a slightly crooked smile.

                _Tip?_ And for a moment, Tetsuya was somewhat nervous as he imagined just how much she’d taken for herself, but he quickly shrugged it off; he had more important things to be worried about. Giving the waitress a nod, a bit of unease in his dark eyes, he turned away while slipping his phone from his pocket.

                A few taps and his phone was ringing against his ear. “Nobu.” He spoke when the line clicked over.

                “Yes sir.”

                “I need you to get me a list of any truck drivers whose routes would have taken them this way and north of Vegas within six to ten days ago.” He widened the time frame just in case she was ahead or behind schedule. “And specifically drivers who happen to be blonde and female,” he added with a thought.

                “Understood, sir.”

                _Kyo-san._ He narrowed his gaze at the setting sun casting its glow over the horizon. He didn’t like this. There was something going on here. He just hadn’t put his finger on it yet, but _he would._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                It was early in the morning when he was awoken by a cottony soft smack to his face. Mildly aware of the freshly laundered scent, Kyoya plucked the offensive fabric from his face, a scowl already in place, the expression only intensified as he recognized the article of clothing as his boxer briefs. He focused his glare on the responsible party.

                She was leaning in the kitchen doorframe again, her arms crossed as she studied his expression and shrugged. “You left them in the bathroom.”

                He sat up and while his motion wasn’t rushed, she undoubtedly noticed it hadn’t pained him. “And so you just decided to wash them?”

                She cocked her head at him, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer you wearing your own clothing if something happens.”

                “Like what?” He almost sneered at her.

                “Oh, I don’t know…you croak…although that does seem to be unlikely given your remarkable recovery,” she mocked, but continued nonetheless, “your friends find you, the authorities somehow learn of your existence, or! And this is the mostly likely scenario, I just finally get tired of your ungrateful bastard-ness and kick you out of my house.”

                He snorted at her childish threat.

                She shrugged, “And besides, why not? I was doing my own laundry, so I didn’t see the why I shouldn’t.”

                He stared at her for a long moment, unsure how to feel about the way she met his gaze without reservation. Scoffing, he turned away and threw back the covers and made to stand. Still aware of her gaze on him, he ignored her confusion as he began to loosen the tie at his waste—though he was mildly amused at her reaction when she suddenly fled into the kitchen as he dropped the pants to the floor. The pajama pants, while suitable temporary replacements for his garments, were just that, temporary. So with unhurried motions he stepped into his preferred undergarments and settled back down onto the couch only to frown and look back at the kitchen door way. She was leaning out and staring at him with a suspicious frown.

                He glared at her in annoyance, “Were you spying on me?” He wouldn’t have cared if she’d watched him the whole time, after all, he’d expressed no need nor want of privacy, but still the thought of her using a deceiving (if not amateurish) method to watch him agitated him.

                She ignored his question and instead informed him of her thoughts, “ _You know_ …you seem awfully un-pained considering…”

                “Considering what?” His glare strengthened, not in annoyance, but rather because he already knew the answer to his question.

                “…considering just three days ago you were found with 3 broken ribs, a gunshot wound, and a severely battered and starved body.” He could feel her eyes straining to see beneath his bandages as if staring intensely would give her answers.

                He snorted and lowered himself back onto the couch that was all too ready to welcome him, despite the fact that he’d have preferred to make his way to the toilet. His desire to keep her suspicions to a minimum were greater than his desire to be free of the eager to embrace cushions.

                Still, she was persistent, “Maybe I should take another lo-

                He cut her off, “I’m fine. If I required your _medical opinion_ ,” his narrowed gaze at the ceiling emphasizing exactly what he thought of said opinion, “I’ll ask for it. As I have not, quickly deliver my breakfast and continue on with your inane business, whatever it is that may be.”

                He was too absorbed in his thoughts to pay much attention the effect his words had on her, perhaps if he had he wouldn’t have been so surprised twenty minutes later when she thrust a bowl into his hands and walked away. Frowning, he sat up to peer at the bowls contents. _Oatmeal…_ overcooked and slightly lumpy oatmeal at that. He was confused for a moment as he looked into the kitchen, as he was sure his nose had picked up other, more desirable, scents. What he found was a crushing—if only to his taste buds—sight. He might be eating oatmeal, but the woman was eating a rather large breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, French toast, and hashbrowns. He scowled down at the lumpy bowl of overcooked oats, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of complaining and lifted the spoon to his mouth. He grimaced and forced himself to swallow despite. He glared at the substance now, for not only was it overcooked and lumpy, it was without any added flavor and was therefore burdensome to swallow.

                He couldn’t wait for the end of the week to arrive.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                Much to his annoyance, Kyoya was unable to relax as he pleased. The woman seemed determined to stay within the cabin all throughout the morning and it was now heading into the early afternoon. He was used to her taking off into the woods the moment she finished her self-administered chores, but today that didn’t seem to be on her agenda. Instead she moved about making all sorts of noise. She loitered at the junk cluttered table for a bit, shuffling things around in boxes, but she spent a rather large amount of time in the back office, making phone calls regarding what sounded to be the reservation, her voice echoing to the front of the cabin.

                Eventually, he grew tired of watching her run about, taking care of her business as if he simply wasn’t there. And it made him wonder… _why was he there?_ No matter what he considered, it just didn’t make sense for him to be there…or rather it didn’t make sense as to why she was allowing him to be there.

                It was around two when she finally slowed to feed the two of them and presented him with a late lunch of two sandwiches. He chose not to comment given that it was a lot more preferable in comparison to his breakfast. She’d already plowed through one sandwich and was starting on her second when he called to her. “Oi.” She didn’t seem to hear him, her attention held by a sheaf of papers in her lap. “Woman.” He waited for the tell-tale cocking of a hammer to signify her annoyance, but he heard nothing, her attention seemingly held solely by her paperwork.

                Glaring now, he scowled as he was forced to try harder, “Charlie!”  His jaw clenched and he suddenly wished he’d just thrown his tonfa at her. It would have been a lost weapon, but it was still preferable to yelling her name when she was merely across the room.

                She looked up at him startled, “What?”

                He stared at her for a long moment and considered dismissing her altogether, but he found his curiosity was unready to relent.

                She rolled her eyes when he didn’t respond for several seconds and returned back to her papers.

                “Why?”

                Slowly, she raised her eyes back to him, an annoyed, but noticeably confused look held there. “Why what?”

                “Why did you bring me here? Why bother to help me? Why not bother to call the authorities?”

                She sighed and set the packet of papers to the side. “I told you already, I had no intention of disposing of your corpse…or allowing the pack to snack on you, they don’t need to acquire that kind of diet.”

                He supposed he could accept that. It wasn’t as if she had an organization at her beck and call to take care of unsightly dead bodies.

                “As to me helping you and not calling the authorities… _well_ ,” she shrugged. “You were right. I don’t know who you are. For all I know you really are a victim of some sort and I’d be doing more harm than good by calling the sheriff.”

                He snorted, “And yet I could just as easily be a villain.”

                She nodded, “You could be, but I’m not worried.”

                “Really?” He gave her a skeptic look, “and why is that?”

                “Because,” she met his skeptic gaze with a serious one, “you are indebted to me.”

                He blinked and slowly a scowl formed on his face, “You’re rather presumptuous to think I’d honor such a thing.”

                She shrugged, “Not much of an assumption considering I know you will.”

                “You know? And just how do you know?” He was glaring now, annoyed not only by her assumptions, but by the fact that he was now doing just as much talking as her.

                She smiled, “Simple, either you will…or else.” She didn’t draw attention to the weapon, but there was no mistaking the Glock 9 that was now beside her on the bed. It hadn’t been there a minute ago.

                His fierce glare relaxed as he contemplated the weapon. That was another thing that he found odd. “Who taught you to shoot?”

                She blinked, thrown off by the sudden change of topic. “My father.” She scowled when he pressed with a follow-up question.

                “He taught you to use all of them?” He didn’t specify, but he knew she knew he was referring to her complete collection.

                She shrugged, annoyed with where the conversation was heading, “Yea, so? Why does it matter to you?”

                He ignored her questions, “And you’re a decent shot?”

                She’d wanted to ignore his question, much as he did hers, but she couldn’t help, but answer with a confident scoff, “Please, decent? I’m a hell of a lot better than decent.”

                “Why?”

                “Why what?” she blinked, thrown off once more by his questioning.

                “What for? Why would he teach you such things?”

                She looked at him strangely for a long period of time. “I don’t know. Why the hell not? I mean I hunt a good portion of my own food, thank you very much!” Her volume had increased with her visible frustration and she stood abruptly. Gathering her papers and snatching her plate up, she hurried into the kitchen, irritated with his questions. “… _awfully_ curious today.” He heard her mutter bitterly as she sped past.

                He grunted in response, watching as she disappeared into the back of the cabin. It wasn’t long before he was glaring up at the ceiling once more. It hadn’t been his intention to become so interested in asking her questions, but he’d come to realize that he hadn’t had much to think about  these past few days except his constant annoyance: the woman, his previous annoyance: the one responsible for his predicament, and his future annoyance: forcing himself to recover. He was agitated with himself now. He’d allowed his curiosity to get the best of him and while he’d gotten answers, he was nowhere near satisfied—especially given that he now had new questions—he’d have to force himself to accept what he _had_ learned, though it wasn’t much.

                After all, his future annoyance was much more important. Taking a moment to confirm the stationary presence of Charlie in the cabin’s rear, he allowed himself to relax, but only for a moment; his stare was suddenly vehement as he focused his gaze towards the ceiling.

                When Charlie returned to the front several hours later, she was unaware of the Violet light that had bathed her front room mere seconds before she stepped into view.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                “Go ahead.” He’d answered the phone on the second ring.

                “I think we have a hit, sir.” Tetsuya was silent and still in the darkness of his hotel room as he waited for his subordinate to continue.

                “A little over a week ago there was an unexplained accident in which an 18-wheeler went off road. Normally the case would have been closed by now, but there’s a lot of suspicion given that the driver was found with a bullet in her head and there was evidence of a second passenger. Aside from the driver’s, a Molly Fentsworth’s, blood was found from three different people at the scene. The evidence heavily suggests foul play.”

                “Good work, Nobu. Text me the location and I’ll contact you in twelve hours for a follow-up.”

                “Yes, sir.”

                Tetsuya’s expression was grim as he grudgingly allowed sleep to claim him.


	10. Ahead of Schedule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tetsuya gets closer, but not fast enough as Kyouya finds that his time to recover has come to an end.

**The Nature of the Beast**

 

**_Chapter Nine: Ahead of Schedule_ **

 

                The lead was a definite success.

                “So it’s definite, then?” Tetsuya’s voice was gruff with a lack of sleep in the predawn light.

                “Yes sir. The tests confirmed it. The blood found on the windshield was definitely Hibari-sama’s.”

                “I see.” He twirled the twig between his teeth, his brow furrowed in thought.

                “…If I may, sir?”

                “Mm?”

                “What now?” Nobu’s was rather hesitant—unusual for the confident assistant that Tetsuya was used to dealing with.

                “Now…now we can finally get some answers.” He ended the call with a tap of his thumb. “…I hope.” Tucking the phone into his blazer pocket, Tetsuya stepped outside of his black rented Lexus, the settling of his feet marked by the crunch of gravel under foot. His expression was grim as he surveyed the seemingly empty town, but determined no less as his eyes settled on one building in particular.

                There weren’t any other cars in the vicinity and he figured there were unlikely to be any more within a reasonable stretch of time—which was why he was unsurprised when his stare was met with the suspicious blue-eyed gaze of an elderly man peering from between oddly placed blinds of the only gas station for miles.

                With purposeful strides, he made his way to the building, his mind summoning the memory of the phone call that had awoken him a mere hour ago.

                _“The local authorities deduced that the accident occurred somewhere between 3:30 and 4:15am. Interestingly enough, at around 5:30am there was an odd incident reported in a small town. Supposedly an old man witnessed a rather bloody confrontation involving men in black suits and cars just outside his gas station.”_

_“And just where was this town, Kaoru?”_

_He could hear the smirk in his rather tenacious subordinate’s voice, “About an hour’s walk from the crash site. It’s a little microscopic place, Hollister.”_

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

                When Kyoya awoke that next morning he was both rested, but strangely more exhausted than he’d been in years. To make matters worse, the mutt was back. If he thought him annoying before, he was insufferable now. It was as if the beast could smell Kyoya’s recovering health—was aware of his growing status as predator—because every step the woman took it seemed she might trip over the mutt. He was waiting for her to grow tired of it. It wasn’t even directly affecting him and even he found it agitating…although to be honest that may have had more to do with the fact that he was beginning to feel crowded.

                A scuff and his gaze drifted to his left where the woman—Charlie, he reminded himself with barely concealed apathy—had stumbled in an attempt to correct her almost fall.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                She bit back a growl and slid the slightest of glares—a narrowing of the lids—down at Dakota. He’d been twinning around her all morning. She’d have found the behavior almost cat-like if not for the fact that he was “gently” herding her in some direction or other with the motion. And that direction was always the same: away from Kyoya.

                At first she’d been a bit wary, but after discreetly observing her house guest (read: openly staring) several times and witnessed the same blasé demeanor and rude glaring, she determined that he was pretty much the same as she left him the previous night. In which case, she decided that Dakota was just being over protective. Sure, Hibari Kyoya _might_ actually be a threat with his oddly phrased threats and mysterious origins, but she highly doubted it was something she couldn’t handle.

                _Seriously, what could he do? Beat her with his little metal sticks_? She snorted at the thought. _Yea…right…when the sun shined out of her ass._

                Smiling at the imagery, she gave Dakota a withering glance and shuffled to the back of the cabin, easily stepping out of the way of Dakota as he seemed content to simply follow her whenever she put distance between herself and Kyoya. Despite her beloved furred friend’s presence she was able to put her houseguest out of her mind as she folded her last load of clothes, that is, until she reached a particular pair of pajama pants. She scowled at them. They were her father’s and she was supposed to be reminded of him when she held the cloth…but now she would forever be reminded of how the sleepwear had contrasted against pale skin as it was tightened around narrow hips. Her scowl deepened. She oughtta kill him. He’d tainted a fond memory and made it into something that she found to be just wrong despite the spike in her libido. Releasing a stubborn growl, she forced the image away and hurried through the rest of the clothes.

                Pretty much all of the clothes were hers and therefore placed in the dresser near the entrance of her father’s old room. The pajamas, however, were to be returned to their box, unlikely to ever see daylight again and that was a crushing fact that she tried hard to ignore. She was still trying to overlook the obvious when she began closing the closet door again, but the glint of metal slowed her actions. Medals. They drew her attention to her father’s _blues,_ his formal uniform of a Midnight Blue coat and Sky Blue Trousers. She was sure if she shifted through the layers of fabric she’d find the white cap and matching belt that went with them. Her jaw clenched when her gaze drifted to the left. Hanging on the inside of the closet door, protected by plastic, was a pair of black slacks and a white button down, the black blazer hung over its shoulders, still crisp from the last time he’d ironed them.

                Even without the visual reminder of the outfit, she recalled it easily. He’d worn it to her high school graduation. The suit was her father’s only formal clothing aside from his uniform. There wasn’t a point to purchasing anything else, he once told her, the _blues_ covered everything else. She remembered the sight of him in the audience. She went to school in a small town, so he hadn’t been all that hard to spot. He didn’t clap and cheer like the other parents when she walked across the rickety outdoor stage, but rather he’d slumped in his fold-out chair and smirked at her. He’d been waiting for her to trip, she remembered, they’d had a bet going. She couldn’t recall what it was for. Her reminiscing was cut short, by a sudden snarl from Dakota.

                Whirling around, she found her companion at the room’s doorway, the fur on his body rising up as he growled at something unseen. Frowning she hurried to his side and he quieted at her approach.  Leaning out, she was only mildly surprised to see Kyoya entering the bathroom. Nothing to make a fuss over, really, although she couldn’t help but notice that he was far closer to her than necessary—as if he’d entered the bathroom from the kitchen instead of the living room. She stared after him suspiciously. … _had he been watching her?_

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                It hadn’t taken her long to realize that Dakota was going to be a problem. He wouldn’t leave.  Normally, she wouldn’t mind him loitering around the cabin unsupervised, but with his recent odd behavior, she just didn’t trust him alone with Kyoya. So while she made to jump in the shower, she put a locked door between the two Alpha males. Dakota was unappreciative of this and made it known by whining—which soon turned to howls and furious scratching at the door. Thankfully the noise faded as he seemed to calm down. Kyoya, was as predicted, unaffected and barely even seemed aware of his surroundings let alone cared. And so without a second thought, she gathered her things and moved into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her.

                He was still for a long moment, waiting for the sound of an interrupted flow of water to become regular and then his lids lifted, his eyes staring unseeingly at the wooden rafters of the ceiling. Almost imperceptibly, there was a narrowing of his gaze and immediately following the action, a ghostly light was suddenly cast over the room, bathing both the couch, Kyoya’s skin, and the duvet that covered his lower half in flickering violet. The source? A furious flame that was being emitted from the ring on his left hand.

                He wasn’t quite sure why—a gut instinct one might say—but something was telling him to hurry. It wasn’t as if he was worried, however, no if anything he was growing impatient. He was both ravenous for bloodshed and thirsting for vengeance. Common sense told him it was only a matter of time, after all, he hadn’t exactly been trying to cover his tracks at the time. He’d give them another two days…if they hadn’t come to him by then…he’d go looking for them.

                _No_ , Kyoya thought as he closed his eyes, _he was unconcerned with his pursuers. After all, he was almost ready._

                He was just beginning to relax when the scratching started again. Glaring at the office door on the other side of the kitchen, he scowled. The beast’s clawing was more furious than before and therefore harder to ignore, but Kyoya made due. However, just as he became efficient at blocking out the agitating sound, the wolf changed tactics. He blinked at the sudden thud and his gaze, once more rested on the door, the rattling handle catching his attention. Almost in disbelief, Kyoya realized he was ramming the door. Determined, he put the sound out of his mind. He’d been on edge since five that morning and he’d be damned if he allowed his fun to be dampened by the limitations of his body. It was only seven minutes later when he was snatched from his concentration by the sound of splintering wood.

                The first thing to hold his attention was the office door barely hanging onto the door frame, the upper set of hinges ripped from door frame. The second was the handle and lock still rolling slowly on the kitchen floor. And lastly, and arguably more important was the furious wolf standing a mere three feet away from the foot of the couch in the kitchen doorway. Apparently, the woman hadn’t been the only one to overestimate the reliability of the office door. He met the mad stare of the beast, his violet flames reflected subtly in golden eyes. His flames flared with his growing agitation—he wasn’t fond of interruptions—and he arched a brow when the creature snarled and shook its head. _Is he reacting to the flames?_ Curious and throwing caution to the wind, Kyoya fed more agitation to his flames and they grew rapidly in proportion. And sure enough Dakota reacted. His eyes widened as the wolf leapt off the wooden floors and surged towards him in one sure movement.

                Neither wolf nor man had heard the shower cease its actions, too entranced by the other to pay it any heed and as such, both were caught unaware by the woman suddenly barreling into the wolf. Kyoya was unsympathetic when the woman and her pet slammed into the wood floors unforgivingly, he did however slide his telescoped tonfa beneath the duvet and damper out his flames.  Watching her lift herself from the floor, he frowned, he was getting too complacent. She shouldn’t have been able to surprise him. He shot a glare towards the wolf. Likewise the animal was already jumping to its feet as if readying for another leap at his throat—his grip tightened on his unseen weapon—but before he could attempt as much Charlie was between them.

                “Stop it!” _Well_ , she sounded upset. He couldn’t say for sure as her back was to him and instead of studying her face he was made aware of how quickly she must have left the shower.  She was tracking water everywhere, her navy blue tank was damp and clinging to her skin in odd directions and there was something about the way her jeans hung on her hips that led him to believe she hadn’t even bothered to do them up. It was obvious from the way her hair, weighted with moisture, clung wildly over her shoulders, that that too had been left unattended. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She was still yelling and Kyoya fought the urge to snort at the bewildered wolf.

                “Out!” she thrust her hand in the direction of the backdoor and for a moment the wolf stepped towards it, but halted and snarled the moment its eyes landed on Kyoya’s form.

                “I said go!”  She began physically pushing the wolf towards the door now and it stumbled and whined in confusion the whole way.

                Minutes later when she returned to the front room, red in the face and pushing wet bangs back from her face, she glared vehemently at Kyoya’s mocking expression of amusement. He frowned however, when her glare suddenly became accusatory.

                “What the hell did you do?” she didn’t yell this time, but rather the way the words hissed from between her teeth, she didn’t need to.

                Kyoya didn’t answer her for a long while, his gaze having shifted to staring in the direction of the wolf she’d sent storming out of the cabin. “Do?” He raised an eyebrow with an almost superior sneer. “I don’t believe there’s much I could have done from this bottomless pit of a couch.”

                She growled in frustration as she knew he had to be right, but still her confusion and suspicion persisted, because he _must_ have done something to earn Dakota’s wrath. The wolf was defensive of her, yes, but never obsessively so. She was stomping back to the bathroom when he spoke up again.

                “The mutt’s rather protective of you.”

                She snorted, “Yea, well, he doesn’t need to be. I can protect myself just fine.”

                “Can you?”

                She frowned and turned to meet his gaze.  There was something in that look that she didn’t like. “Yes. I can. _Especially_ from you.”

                He gave a derisive snort, a smile touching his lips in amusement as he looked away and allowed himself to lounge back into the couch.

                Annoyed at his behavior, she gave him a disgusted look and questioned, “What?”

                “Your stupidity-”

                “Excuse me?” She cut in with growing agitation.

                “…it’s funny.” He finished, his eyelids closed as if he feared no repercussion for his remark.

                She stared at him with wide eyes. A tick near her eye and a twitch in her jaw as her teeth fought to grind. “Ugh!” She growled in frustration and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

                The moment she cleaned herself up, she left the cabin. She was gone for several hours and it was during this time that Kyoya allowed himself to muse over Dakota’s actions. They both disturbed and mildly interested him. Basing his opinion purely on observation, it seemed that the wolf was somehow instinctually aware of the danger his flames posed. It was a very interesting idea, but unheard of. Of course, Kyoya reasoned to himself, aside from Hibird, his flames had never been exposed to any non-box weapon animal prior to that moment. In fact, most animals had a tendency to flee the area whenever a battle took place—whether it involved flames or not. _Could it be that animals could sense the danger of Dying Will flames?_

                Putting that thought to the back of his mind, he began channeling his flames once more, unconcerned now that the wolf was out of the cabin and sure that the woman wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon. Drifting lower into his conscious mind, he let his flames sink into his skin and flow through him. _He needed to be ready. Something was coming, he could feel it._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                Kyoya had been right in assuming that she wasn’t returning anytime soon. It was well past dark when she entered the house far quieter than she’d left, still, he wasn’t surprised this time. She’d fixed dinner for the two of them and they ate in silence. She appeared calm, but he could still feel the agitation rolling off of her in steady waves. He’d barely set the plate down when it was snatched off the floor, washed and put away. A few minutes later, it was lights out and she crawled into her bed without a word. Her back was to the wall again. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and gradually allowed himself to fall unconscious.

                He was pulled from a deep slumber by a repeating sharp noise. They’d penetrated the murky haze of his subconscious with an alarming familiarity and he opened his eyes just as the last of it sounded. _Gunshot._ The veil of sleep was completely lifted when the shots were echoed by a symphony of howls. His gaze slid over to his left first, habitually reading the glowing red 3:08am of an alarm clock stationed on the nightstand before landing on the empty bed. His eyes darted to the window where the woman stood, her shadowed figure silhouetted by moonlight. She didn’t say anything, but he found it wasn’t necessary. He could easily read the tenseness in her shoulders and was very much aware of the tight grip she held on her Beretta. Something was wrong.

She heard him sitting up from the couch and she tilted her head slightly in his direction as if to hear him better. “You have trespassers.” She hated that he sounded so sure and…almost _amused._ _Bastard._

                 Still, she didn’t deny his spoken words, but she didn’t agree with his unspoken meaning either, “It’s probably just hunters. …happens all the time. They cross the fences for better game.”

                He didn’t question her, only snorted and lay back down. She was lying to herself—obviously. He wasn’t a marksman, but even he knew that those gunshots were far too close together to belong to a hunter. They were the sounds of a semi-automatic. Semi-automatics were highly impractical for hunting as the precision needed to accurately hit a target from a distance wouldn’t be allowed for with a handgun—pardoning only the most skilled of shooters. Momentarily, he wondered how much longer she’d delude herself. To himself, however, he smirked. The scavengers were coming to him. _Good_. He was itching for their demise.

 

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                She must’ve window watched for nearly two hours, but as the sun began its ascent into the sky her patience wore thin. Without a word she threw on her clothes, laced up her boots and snatched up her shotgun and Glock, all the while Kyoya’s gaze was heavy on her back. Not a moment later, she was heading into the woods and Kyoya closed his eyes.

                With practiced ease, he pushed away everything around him, everything but the ring on his finger and the malignant fuel that was his growing annoyance. His prey were close and soon he would deal with them.

 

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                Nearly two hours of seemingly pointless wandering had passed before she stumbled upon what she feared, just around the bend, behind a thick gathering of trees in a sloped clearing. The wolf was on her side, her breath coming in steadily slower and uneven breaths. Her arctic white fur, just beneath her ribs was matted with dried blood and there was a steadily growing pool of crimson at her side muddled by autumn leaves and debris. _Lena._ She’d been whimpering at an almost inaudible frequency, but as her glazed over eyes landed on Charlie, she stopped and simply watched.

                It was reckless of her, but without another thought she hurried to the injured creature’s side, uncaring of its possible reaction and ignorant of the bullet holes riddled into a passed by tree. She stopped, however at the sudden sound of a snap behind her. Too heavy to be anything small and she was certain it wasn’t a deer or wolf. She didn’t hesitate when she spun to face the intruder, but her vision was skewed when she was without warning cracked across the head with the weighted handle of a Desert Eagle. She hit the forest floor, _hard_.

                Dazed, she wasn’t sure if only a few seconds or several minutes had passed when a familiar snarl rang out. From the corner of her vision, still distorted though it was, she saw her attacker turn in Dakota’s direction. She grimaced, _she didn’t need to be rescued,_ and with a snarl of her own she lashed out with a vicious kick to the knee. She heard the sick crunch as the man’s knee cap was brutally shifted to the left.  He gave a wordless scream as he crumpled and with unconcealed venom he swung his weapon up at her, his finger already on the trigger, ready to be fired. She didn’t give him the chance to as she shoved herself from the ground and snatched at the weapon and twisted it away and to the side. He didn’t release the weapon willingly and she was forced to ignore the snapping of fragile finger bones.

                She muffled his cry of pain with a knee to the gut as she tackled him into the nearest tree with a thud. Outrage still surged in her and before she even realized what she was doing, she slammed her elbow into his temple and stared in mild surprise when he slumped to the ground, unconscious. Her breathing was labored and she still trembled from the unexpected rush of adrenaline when she jerked her head down a ways as she heard what could only be the man’s comrades calling out.

                She wasn’t stupid. These men weren’t here for the wolves and they certainly weren’t here for her. _Kyoya._ She sent a fleeting glance at the injured wolf and winced as she turned away. Even if she had the time and the equipment, the creature was already on death’s door. The she-wolf had been injured far too long ago. With a heavy heart, she drove the thought from her mind and took off, sprinting the seven miles to her cabin, Dakota on her heels.

                No, what was on Charlie’s mind was no longer a dying wolf _nor_ was it Kyoya. It was rush of adrenaline through her veins and the realization that she’d done it _again_. He’d hit her and she attacked in return, a normal enough reaction, but the question was… _why_ …with two firearms on her person had she not simply grabbed one and took aim? Instead she’d acted on her instinct and chosen to inflict physical harm with her bare hands. … _just like she always did._

A grey blur shot past her and she frowned as she realized she was slowing. With a guilt ridden cringe she forced herself to forget her current train of thoughts and instead pushed herself to run faster. She didn’t really like him much, but somebody needed to tell him that his _buddies_ were here for him. It was a forty-five minute run back to the cabin, but she intended to cut it shorter.

 

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                When she barged into her home, disheveled and panting, she nearly choked at the unexpected sight. Kyoya…standing in front of her grandfather’s couch…adjusting the cufflinks of her _father’s_ _suit_. He looked away from his task, his eyes focusing in on her with an annoyed, almost disappointed look, but as his eyes drifted over her form, she no longer knew what to think as a pleased and dastardly smirk spread over his face.

                _What the hell had she gotten herself into?_


	11. Prey VS. Predator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shit hits the fan and Charlie is not one to stand on the sidelines.

**The Nature of the Beast**

 

**_Chapter Ten: Prey Vs. Predator_ **

****

                “Take that off.”

                He raised an eyebrow at her words. She’d had the most bewildered look on her face when she walked in and he’d taken pleasure in her disheveled state of panic. Not because of her physical appearance itself, but because of what it meant.  _They’d finally arrived._  So he was thrown off a bit when she’d suddenly commanded him. And a command it was, he realized as her hard glare bored into his condescending stare.

                He didn’t take long to think about it. “No.”

                He was mildly fascinated as he watched her jaw clench, “Take it off, now.” The words hissed through her clenched teeth and he smirked momentarily, before telling her once more…

                “No.”

                It wasn’t too often that he saw people get this worked up—not around himself anyway—let alone a female—well, there was Sawada’s little puppy,  Gokudera, but he wasn’t even going to dwell on that thought. Incensed by his one word response, her shoulders snapped back; he didn’t react, only stared as she crossed the floor with hurried strides.

                “Take it off! Now-” She’d lunged for the suit jacket, more than likely intending on snatching it off of him—he didn’t give her the chance.

                She stared at her hand in his grasp. Sneering, she snatched her hand back from him. He said nothing and kept his expression limited to barely concealed amusement as he straightened the jacket. She gave him a look of annoyed disgust before attempting to snatch at the jacket once more. Again he caught her hand, but this time she struck out with her other and this one he swatted away. Exasperated, she pulled her limb back and continued to try her luck…as well as his patience.

                Eventually he grew tired of fending off her grabbing hands and with a quickness that far belied his previous bedridden state, he seized her right wrist and spun her by her left shoulder into the wall. She gasped both in pain and the sudden lack of air as he pushed his palm into her back, pinning her arm against her throat—her socket beginning to ache from the strenuous pull of her arm.

                “I’ve tolerated your moods quite enough. You have long breached the limits of my patience, woman and I’m afraid that if you continue to push me any further, I may just consider overlooking my debt to you.”

                He glared at the back of her head when she—seemingly ignoring him—attempted to shove free of the wall. Scowling, he reapplied pressure between her shoulder blades. He ignored her pained grunt and spoke again, “Don’t test me woman. I’m only warning you once.  Stay out of my way.”

                He released her just as she was starting to claw at his hand, desperate for air or perhaps just trying to antagonize him more. She dropped to the floor with a gasp. He glared down at her choking form and just for good measure decided to add, “Better yet,” his tone was undeniably condescending, “stay out of the way in general. While I couldn’t care less, it would be a shame if in your stupidity, you got yourself killed.”

                When she tilted her head up from the floor, he was expecting to see fear, maybe even the same look of bewilderment he’d witnessed cross her face when he grabbed her. Instead, he couldn’t help but want to smirk at the look of resentment that shown in her eyes. He could feel her desire to attack him and he was half tempted to urge her into it. He’d be only too happy to show the woman her proper place—to let her know just  _who_  was the predator and who was  _not._

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                She wanted to kick him, no…she _really_ wanted to kill him at that moment. It’d been years since she’d been manhandled—not since she still a girl. She’d seen to ridding herself of that vulnerability…or so she thought. _Bastard._ He’d caught her off guard. She sneered up at him, all too aware of Kyoya’s sudden strength. Where had it come from? He hadn’t even been under her care for a full _week! That kind of recovery was just insane!_ She thought back to her examination of him and his _remarkable_ healing. Something wasn’t adding up. Her gaze hardened on his form, striding around her house with a smooth unhurried gait, seemingly unhindered and completely recovered from his injuries…she felt like there was another wolf in her home.

                _Dakota._

                Her gaze shifted to the back of the house and she rolled to her feet, ignoring the bastard for the time being. She’d left him outside in her hurry to reach Kyoya. She scowled at the reminder and pushed open the door to the backroom and was pleased to see that Dakota had entered the mudroom through the rather large animal entryway in the backdoor and was now pacing about.  She didn’t have to say anything as he automatically followed her into the house when she turned back to the door. This time when Dakota placed himself between her and her detestable houseguest, she didn’t complain.

                Kyoya had seated himself at her office desk and was staring at her as she settled herself into the worn leather loveseat on the opposite side of the room. Dakota laid at her feet. She scowled at the bastard—dressed in her _father’s suit_. It fit him well and she was startled to realize that her father had had such a lean frame. She’d never really seen it that way; he’d always seemed somehow larger in her memory. And now, she realized with a scowl, she’d never be able to imagine her father without Kyoya’s image clouding over it. The insult was right on the tip of her tongue, but he spoke first.

                “How far away are they?”

                She blinked, slightly taken aback, “What?”

                A minor narrowing of his eyes betraying his annoyance, he clarified, “How far back did you run into the _scavengers_.”

                The word was spat from his mouth and she stared at him in surprise, “…about 7 miles out.”

                His eyes glazed over for a moment as he considered her response and he muttered to himself, “…11 kilometers.”

                Something occurred to her then. “You knew.”

                His eyes refocused on her, questioning.

                “You _knew_ ….” Her anger reignited as she snarled at him, “You bastard! You knew they were coming! You didn’t intend on getting away… _did you_?” The accusation in her words answered for him. “You knew that they’d find you…you were _waiting_ for them…” A sudden clarity found her. Perhaps not all, but some things _were_ beginning to make sense…. _His confidence of “biting” her by the end of the week…the consistent pushing of his body…the rapid healing of his body—_ although to be honest, she still couldn’t wrap her mind around that one _—and of course_ finally _, dressing in her father’s suit._ He knew what was going on before she even left out that morning. He was already prepared by the time she stepped a foot back into her house.

                The look she was giving him was positively venomous, yet his only response was to raise a single eyebrow as if to say: _what of it?_

She nearly lost it then. She was on her feet before she knew it, but the moment she met his stare, she froze— _hesitated._ He was smirking at her and she saw now, twirling slowly in his grasp, a small tin can like object.  She clenched her jaw. _The same weapon that had nearly put a hole in her head._

                It took every bit of her self-control to sit back down. What else could she do? Sure, she could shoot him, but her anger wasn’t worth injuring him that badly and she could see now that if she attacked him bare handed…it wouldn’t end well for her. Slumping forcefully back in her seat, she met his gaze head on. “When this is over,” She gave him a strained smile, “I can’t wait to kick your ass off my property.”

                The smirk on his face made her want to kick his teeth in. It was like he was daring her to try it. Thankfully he didn’t hold the expression for long. After a moment, his gaze fell to the floor in thought. She continued to seethe in her seat; Dakota growling at her feet, picking up her agitation. Minutes passed before he spoke, “There’s no reason for you to be tense over it. It’s likely to be a few hours before they arrive. I _highly_ doubt they’ll arrive before night fall.” It was rather obvious how low his regard for his pursuers were.

                She scoffed at him. Did he really think she was freaking out over a bunch of men in suits? … _well_ …it’s not to say that she _wasn’t_ worried…but it wasn’t really for her sake. She rolled her eyes. Whatever. _No_ , what was holding her attention was the man in front of her. She gave a snort before standing up, Dakota rising with her. It bothered her just sitting there— _waiting_. Annoyed, she began pacing. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it, instead she felt his eyes suddenly attach to her, his gaze trained on her striding form. It wasn’t long before it started to bother her. _Where did he get off making her feel like prey in her own home?_ She could see him from the corner of her eyes—worse, yet…she could _feel_ his presence on the other side of the room. She felt like she was being stalked. Not once in the past few days had she thought to consider him a real threat…and it grated on her pride to know she may have been wrong. She didn’t want to admit it, but perhaps Dakota hadn’t been overreacting.

                Tired of waiting and of feeling his cool gaze pinned to her, she huffed and stormed off into the kitchen. She was hungry and if she understood properly, her house was likely to be “under siege” in a few hours. _…best not to go to war on an empty stomach._ She frowned at the thought, but quickly tuned it out in favor of throwing something together.

 

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                She hadn’t planned on feeding him. In fact, she really didn’t want to, but common sense won out in the end. If they really were about to be attacked…then it might not be such a bad idea to make sure her only ally— _correction,_ she thought as she glanced down at Dakota, only _human_ ally—actually ate something today. Of course she didn’t actually hand him the food—a thrown together dish of leftover stew and rice—but had instead nearly tossed the bowl with a clatter onto the desk beside him.

                The moment she’d stepped into the room, his eyes were on her, he hadn’t even looked away from her when she set the bowl down. In fact it wasn’t until after she had plopped down into the leather cushions with her own food that he finally looked away. She watched as he plucked the bowl from the wooden surface and stared at its contents with something akin to annoyed discontent. Still, he apparently knew better than to complain. She remembered well, his complaints over their first few shared meals and even better remembered the scowl on his face when she told him ‘he was welcome to get up and fix his own food.’

                Not surprisingly, they ate in silence. She didn’t want to look at him—not dressed like that—and so she definitely didn’t want to talk to him…not when all she could think about was throttling him. And even less surprising, he had nothing to say to her—he rarely did—unless it was to voice a complaint or insult. It was shortly after dusk when it happened. She’d been cleaning up the dishes from the small meal, in need of something to do that _wasn’t_ being watched by him. She gave a start when a snapping noise followed by a loud thwack echoed in the woods and immediately following, the power fizzled out. They’d cut the power lines.

“Son of a—” the words were hissing through her teeth when she jumped.

                Her eyes were still adjusting to the sudden dark, but she could just barely make out Kyoya’s shape as he entered the kitchen. She didn’t say anything; Dakota’s growls spoke for her, but managed to glare at him over her shoulder.

 

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                He was just passing into the kitchen when the lights went out. In all honesty, he’d gotten bored in the office and was coming to amuse himself with the woman and her pet mongrel, however the moment the electricity was cut, he felt a smile spreading on his face…and it wasn’t the pleasant kind. _They were finally in range._ Without a moment’s notice he turned on his heel and headed for the backdoor. A moment later and he heard the woman hurrying after him.

                “Are you _insane_?” The trace of confusion lacing her tone almost made him laugh, “Are you trying to get shot?”

                Not turning to face her, he pushed open the screen door and reminded her, “Stay out of the way.”

                He couldn’t see them. Not just yet. But he knew they were there. He could feel them watching him…like weary rodents in view of their natural predator. Releasing his tonfa, a feral grin stretched his lips as his ring burst into violet flames. “Have you come to die, rats?”

                Almost immediately the clearing was under a hail of gunfire. He didn’t spare a moment to consider his actions, dashing into the forest without thought, he narrowly dodged the streams of projectiles. Not even flinching, only sparing a glance, when a bullet came close and laid a hairline cut across his cheek. He may not be able to see in the dark, but he didn’t need to, their firearms gave them away and he leapt.

                He lunged forward, up and in, plunging his foot into the gut of a shooter perched in a tree. He didn’t bother to watch him fall, instead his ring found the Vongola box with a subtle punch and by a stream of blazing violet hues, Roll was sent barreling into the chest of a rat attempting to sneak his way behind Kyoya. He was dead the moment a silver spike pierced into his chest cavity. The rain of bullets came to a lull. The mercenaries watching and circling cautiously as the floating hedgehog began to glide back to his owner’s side, his propagation ability causing purple orbs laced with silver lances to drift lazily about.  They were hesitant to fire, ensuring that they were all aimed at their target and not at each other.

                “Weak little herbivores…” The predatory grin that surfaced, left many of them uneasy, “…always crowding.” They pulled their triggers then.

                The spiked orbs pulled inwards, surrounding Kyoya and shielding him from the storm of bullets. His make shift shield did more than that, they realized as cries of pain rung out with the sudden dispersing of blood into the air…their bullets were ricocheting off the spikes. No sooner had the mercenaries bit back a curse and called a cease fire had the orbs of pointed protrusions burst apart with violent force, burying their points into pliant flesh.

                The area quickly fell into chaos as screams and gun fire echoed the sounds of blunt force, occasionally enhanced by the roar of flames.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Charlie watched with Dakota, entranced by the violence and sounds of bloodshed. Almost disturbed by the crunch and wet smacks of broken bones and spattered blood…she’d caused the same sounds herself before…but never had she born witness to so much of it. She lost herself in the fight, mesmerized by the erratic violet flame, its light vibrant in the darkened forest.  There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched him. _Who was this man?_

She was still dwelling on that thought when she was interrupted by a suspicious rustling near the side of the cabin. Before she could stop him, Dakota had bolted out the door and dashed around the corner in pursuit. Cursing his name beneath her breath, she hurried further into her house, searching for a window; she could hear his footfalls on the side of the cabin. However when she got to the window, she paused. There was a stream of pale moonlight flooding into the living room and the thin moth-eaten curtains fluttered in the breeze. A breeze that shouldn’t have existed…she didn’t open that window.

No sooner had she thought to panic, a hand wrapped around her mouth and she was snatched backwards off of her feet. Furious, she plunged her elbow into her would be attackers gut. Her attack was followed by a wheeze. She lunged forward and reared back; slamming the same elbow into the spot she imagined a face would be. Her actions were rewarded with a pained grunt followed by the clatter of a fallen object as her attacker made to clutch at his face. She grabbed his right hand—the one that had covered her mouth—twisted and pulled. He cried at the arm lock and before he could attempt to free himself a well-placed kick to the sternum dropped him.

Glancing down at his hunched over form, his arm still in her grasp, her gaze landed on an object not far from him, highlighted by moonlight. A smith and Wesson handgun gleamed from the floor. He was going to shoot her… _or worse_ …hold her hostage. She cringed at the realization that he’d probably had plenty of time to shoot her while sneaking up behind her. Gritting her teeth at the thought, she didn’t hesitate to bend his arm outward and give a jerking twist. She leapt back at his scream. It wasn’t the first time she’d broken an arm…, but it was the first time she’d done it so brutally. Snatching the Beretta from her jeans, she leveled it at the trespasser. He froze automatically, but then as he met her gaze, he saw what she didn’t want to admit— _hesitation_. He gave her a mocking snarl of a grin and lunged for the Smith  & Wesson with his good hand.

A shot and a scream later, the mercenary was quite abruptly without _any_ good hands. She clenched her jaw as she stared down at him. He held his wounded hand close to him. She was hesitant to take a life… _always had been…_ She narrowed her eyes at him and lowered the barrel to his knee cap—didn’t need him getting up later. … _but she had never been afraid to pull the trigger._

This time when he screamed, she silenced him with a kick to the temple.

                Forcing her anxiety away, she calmed herself by habitually checking her ammo. When she finished she looked about her, the clicking of claws alerting her to Dakota’s presence, the wolf sniffing cautiously at the downed attacker. She gave him a look, “You were a little late this time around.”

With an aggravated sigh, she considered her position. It was depressing to realize, but she was quite vulnerable here— _in her own home._ Frustrated, she was forced to acknowledge that she couldn’t stay here…or else she might really end up in his way—she pushed the thought of being held hostage from her mind—either that or she’d be dead before the night was up. And she wasn’t about to let either of those things come to pass. She’d started pacing, but jerked to a halt a moment later and with a curious smirk she tilted her head up to gaze at the raftered ceiling.

 

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                His grin was savage as he threw himself into the violent thrall of battle. _Here,_ he was at home. Here, _he_ was King. _Here_ , the weak fell to the strong. _Here_ was where he would tear out the throats of his prey. … _Of course_ …it wasn’t that simple and strong as he was, they were swarming him and to make matters worse, _the trees were in the way_. He scowled. They may have made him harder to shoot, but it also made it easier for the little mice to hide and scurry away, fleeing from his bite. He was considering just having Roll bulldoze the whole forest down when it happened.

                He’d heard the shot and he growled to himself. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to dodge it. He would just have to be glad that it was unlikely to hinder him too much, it’d be a flesh wound at best…but to his surprise the shot strayed to his far left and the shooter dropped with a yell clutching his thigh—blood leaking out of what could only be a bullet wound. He frowned and turned his attention back to the cabin.

 The only sources of light were his flames and the gaze of the full moon. The latter of which just barely gave form to the silhouette of a feminine figure, stretched out on the roof, her arms wrapped around the slender shape of what could only be a sniper rifle.

He stared. And when she raised a hand to wave at him…a tick developed in his eye.


	12. Mortality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...eventually, death comes for us all...

**The Nature of the Beast**

 

**_Chapter Eleven: Mortality_ **

****

                He didn’t look too happy to see her. She grinned. _Tough. Like hell was she going to stay in the background hoping no one noticed her—_ again.  Shoving that particular unhappy thought away, she took aim and fired. There was a sharp cry of pain followed by a whump as body fell from a tree. He was still alive of course; she was aiming for the outer extremities. Curious, she turned her scope down to Kyoya. She flinched at the rather intense glare he was sending her. _The hell?_ Scowling she decided to just ignore him and focus on her self-appointed task of keeping the ass from getting shot.

 

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                That woman. Kyoya glared at her for all it was worth, but when another assailant fell back with a cry, he scowled and turned away, driving back into the ambush with rib-cracking force. Still, he barely paid his fallen victim any attention, he mind was still focused on the interloper. He flinched when another potential victim of his fell prey to her sharp aim. Did she think she was helping him? Hardly. While he was well aware that she was far from helpless, he knew it would only be a matter of time before she found herself in a position requiring his aid…and he still wasn’t quite sure if he was willing to provide it.  After narrowly missing a bullet to the head he decided he should ignore her presence for now…no matter how well she made it known by the constant occurrence of men falling from trees. For the time being, he’d continue to brutalize any unfortunate fool to fall into his path. And there were many. He sneered at their crowding—herbivorous behavior—and struck out into his massacre with renewed agitation.

                So he was both annoyed and surprised when his prey suddenly vanished. He trekked lightly through the woods before returning to the clearing outside the cabin when he found no sign of them—the dead and dying aside. Did they retreat? _Why?_ He came to a stop when a gray shape slunk from the shadows clinging to the cabin. Dakota. He stared at the wolf for a moment before tracing his path back and letting his gaze rest on the form that reclined against the cabin walls. Agitated with her again, although for a different reason, he scowled at her. “You’re going to get in the way.”

                She scowled right back at him. “Oh please. I haven’t been in the way so far. And as far as I could tell I was even assisting your sorry ass.”

                His scowl deepened. No, she hadn’t been in the way…directly. She had, however, been in the way of session. He’d rather take the chance of getting shot than have to share a moment of his brand of discipline with another…especially one who couldn’t even do it right. He hadn’t been particularly bothered by killing already downed men, but he was annoyed that they couldn’t even begin to challenge him at that point. Besides, if someone actually managed to shoot him, then it meant he was severely out of practice. And the best practice was always hands-on.  Still he was annoyed with her interloping. “Just go back into the cabin. It’ll be better for the both of us.” She wouldn’t be cutting into his fun, getting in his way, or distracting him.

                She snorted at him. “How’s that? Last time I listened to you and ‘stayed out of the way’ some fucktard slipped into the window and grabbed me. Frankly, I think I’m better off out here, shooting at people than I am just sitting in a dark house like a sitting duck!”

                He frowned. They’d gone after her. He’d made it fairly obvious where he was located, so there’d have been no reason to enter the house except for her. Did they think she was someone of importance to him? It was his turn to snort then.

 

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                “Fine then.”

                She looked at him in surprise. She wasn’t expecting him to just give in and accept her presence…not that it would have made a difference to her. Nothing, short of divine interference was gonna keep her from doing what she wanted to, especially if it was defending her property.

                “Just keep out of my way.”

                “I’ve been doing tha--”

                “No. You haven’t.” He cut her off with a vehement glare. “I don’t require your assistance, woman. Just worry about staying alive…and don’t follow me.”

                She had twitched at the woman bit, but blinked in confusion at the last part. “Follow you? Why would I follow you? Where are you going?”

                He smirked then and by way the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, she was glad that it wasn’t directed at her, “You don’t feel it, then?”

                “Feel what?” She was scowling again, agitated not only by the blatant look of sadistic glee on his face but with her previous reaction. She looked around, but found nothing that he could be ‘feeling’ and was just about to tell him so in a rather rude manner when she paused. There was a low buzzing noise, rough and almost angry in the way it snarled as it grew louder. She stared off into the dark forest, her eyes looking for the source when suddenly a flash of light drew her attention.

                Her eyes grew wide as she suddenly threw herself to the ground as a storm of bullets rocketed into her cabin walls with a harsh set of rapid metal clicks. She grunted to herself in disgust. _A fully automatic fire arm…or two…or three. …maybe four._ Damn. A thought entered her mind and she glanced around, frantic suddenly. She was both relieved and worried when Dakota was nowhere near in sight. Neither was Kyoya, but she really didn’t care what happened to hi—Oh…well never mind, her mind called to her as she spotted him at the forest’s edge using a thick tree for cover.

                She was just contemplating moving for better cover herself, when the low buzzing suddenly escalated into the full metallic roar of an engine—several of them. She’d just barely rolled herself out of the way when an ATV came crashing into the clearing. She shoved herself off the ground just in time to stomp her foot into the stomach a man leaping off the back of one of the off-road vehicles. She ducked under a badly aimed shot and dashed for the tree line. Even armed as she was, the middle of that chaos was a bad place to be. Staying in it be stupid and suicidal… _so she really wasn’t surprised to find Kyoya still there._

                She scowled at him in morbid fascination as a he smiled in a chilling manner. He was really enjoying himself. He parried, blocked, and drove his weapons into their bodies like it was the easiest thing in the world…and to do it with that smile on his face. _Was he sane?_ Of course, the better question was: was he even human? As ridiculous as that question seemed, she found it recurring in her mind more and more often as those tonfa enrobed in violet flames swatted people across the clearing as if they were nothing more than annoying little birds. And just when she thought he could do nothing stranger, someone tried to run him over.

                The screech of twisted and folding metal made her wince and cringe, but she still kept her eyes open. She didn’t have much of a choice; she couldn’t find it in her to look away. He’d swung the weapon down into the hood of the vehicle and it took a sharp and sudden nose dive straight into the ground. It’s driver was even less fortunate as he flew out of his seat and collided with the flaming weapon of Kyoya’s free hand. When his body hit the ground and didn’t even twitch in response, she knew somehow the blow had killed him. She was so caught up in the violent vision that was Hibari Kyoya, she didn’t react until the click. Her eyes shifted reflexively and her head sought to turn, but the metal muzzle shoved against the back of her head prevented her from doing so.

“Ah, ah, ah…if you’re a good girl, I won’t have to pull the trigger.”

 _Damn it all!_ She’d let herself get distracted.

                He attempted to lead her towards a tree, but she didn’t play nicely. She grunted and nearly fell over her own feet when the handle of the gun was bounced off of her skull. “I told you be a good girl!” he hissed and she clenched her jaw. “Now mo--”

                He was cut off by a growl. She stood straight. She knew that sound better than anyone.

                “What the fu—argh!” His question quickly turned into an agonized cry and she whirled around to see his body pinned to the forest floor by a large mass of fur. She stared in astonishment at Dakota’s twitching muzzle, his fangs buried in the back of the man’s neck. She didn’t tear her gaze away as his jaws clenched and pulled and there was a wet and sticky sound as flesh was torn away with an almost elastic snap . And with that action another man was dead right in front of her eyes.

                Charlie didn’t budge when Dakota padded up to her. She fought against the urge to cringe when he pressed his muzzle, wet with blood, against her arm. His accompanying whine pulled her gaze away from the body and she turned to look at him—forced herself to take in blood matted fur that outlined his mouth, splattered over his nose and dripped down his neck. And then she met his gaze and she relaxed. He was staring at her with the same worry and confusion over her actions that he always had. Without another moment to hesitate, she patted his head turned away from the body.

                Dakota had killed for her—to protect her and all because she’d gotten distracted. She wouldn’t let it happen again. She turned to look back at the clearing, but was immediately surprised. _Where was Kyoya?_ There were still men in the clearing, but a good portion of them were missing and there weren’t enough bodies on the ground to account for them. _Did he go back into the forest?_ She wasn’t given the opportunity to linger on the thought, for a moment later they spotted her. She cursed her carelessness. She may be behind the tree line, but she was still visible. It seemed not even a second later they charged in pursuit of her.

                _Fuck._ She dashed deeper into the woods, Dakota running silently alongside her.

 

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                They were weak. Sure they had numbers, but Kyoya found that he had to drive them into the forest just for him to a have a bit of a challenge and even then he was hardly even getting a work out. It almost made him long for the days of his youth…when Sawada and his merry band of idiotic herbivores had a crisis seemingly every week. … _almost._   He smirked at an almost clever attempt to head him off around a bend where a few trees grew closely together. The smirk was still there when he drove his tonfa into the mercenary’s glass chin with an uppercut. Even using tactics…they were still weaklings.

                His head jerked to the side. There was an awful lot of gunfire coming from the other side of the forest and Kyoya acknowledged with a scowl that it could only mean one thing: the woman had ended up exactly where he didn’t want her. …at least she hadn’t followed him and was no longer in his way. Still, he admitted as he shattered another’s jaw with a particularly vicious snap kick, it would be kind of hard to repay his debt to her if he let her get herself killed. And Kyoya wasn’t too happy about being indebted to anyone…let alone an insufferably stubborn female. His scowl deepened as he began to move towards her, all the while continuing to brutally remove his human obstacles.

 

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                She was screwed. She knew it. She’d ran out of ammo twice. If it weren’t for stealing the clips of fallen mercenaries she’d probably already be dead…even with Dakota attacking anyone who got too close to her. And that was something she was trying not to think too hard about. She’d of course known that Dakota was still a wild animal and would attack whenever he felt threatened, but she’d never seen such ferocity in him. She wouldn’t say it scared her, because it didn’t, but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t unnerve her a bit. At most he’d only killed two, the rest were just injured. She tried not to think of the one’s who might bleed out from violently torn wounds.

                Watching him gave her pause. He wasn’t seeking to injure them just enough to take them out of her way. He was seeking to take them out, remove them from the playing field so that they wouldn’t even be factored in the equation anymore. It was a savage logic born from the instinct to survive. And for a moment, she wondered, if she was just being stupid—if she was just wasting her mercy on these men, sparing their lives, even knowing that the moment they could pull themselves together they’d continue to try and end her. When the answer started to sound like one she couldn’t accept, she shoved it in the back of her mind, snatched up a spare magazine and darted around a tree just as a few more of her pursuers caught up.

                They didn’t see him coming. A flash of fangs was all they caught as Dakota tore into the hamstrings of the male bringing up the rear. The moment they turned to fire, the other two were swiftly brought down by four bullets, one to each knee. And before they could even recover from their shock and scramble painfully to their dropped firearms, she fired four more, one to each hand. Unbidden, her thoughts whispered to her, _Eight shots…a waste of six bullets…it would have only taken two to be done with them permanently._ Another thought she refused to linger on, shoved into the background.

                She tore her gaze from groaning men and found Dakota’s teeth nestled in the throat of the rear assailant. And just like that, the number went up to three. He killed with ease. In fact, the more she considered his attacks, the more she realized death was always his goal, she either just kept moving and he broke away to follow or she disabled them first. He didn’t hesitate. What need was there? It was either them or him…or rather, she frowned, them or _her_.

                A sound came from behind her and she tensed and prepared to fire at whoever was approaching.

                “Don’t stop daydreaming on my account, lady.” The man was barely out of shadow and only seen from her peripheral vision.

                Dakota snarled as he raised his head. She frowned. The only thing on her mind was how _this_ …this was bad. She was not in a good spot. She was thinking of a way to make it more advantageous for herself when the unthinkable happened.

                “Nice pet.”

                _What?_

                She turned to look at him fully, eyes wide as she took in the gleaming glock. “Dakota…” She looked back to her companion, “No!” But already he was bearing down at the man; his form was agile as it leapt for the throat of the threatening male.

                She choked on a scream as the bullet tore through the air before quickly burying its way into a furred figure.  His body slammed into the ground noisily, but all she heard was the sharp whimper that echoed the shot.

                She neither heard nor acknowledged Kyoya’s approach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. I'm a bastard. Keep your pitchforks to yourself, please.


	13. Target Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie gets her hands dirty.

**The Nature of the Beast**

 

**_Chapter Twelve: Target Practice_ **

****

Her fingers had locked themselves into the mass of grey fur and her gaze was held captive by the steadily growing pool of blood. The woman had tuned everything out, it seemed.

“Well, that was easier than expected.” The mercenary let out a cocky snort. “…figured what with all the screaming and carrying on over here, the beastie would put up a better fight.” The smirk on his face could be heard despite his face being concealed in the shadows. “Guess the pup just wasn’t ready for me, huh?”

“You should be more concerned with your own life.” The sudden appearance of Kyoya’s voice cut through the smug atmosphere with a quickness. “…instead of wasting your breath.”

The reaction was quick as expected and Kyoya was unsurprised when the man jerked in his direction, swinging his weapon blindly in attempt to aim at him. To be honest, Kyoya wasn’t hard to find. He stood in the shadows of the trees and would have been nearly invisible if not for the violet glow that was cast hauntingly on his features. The light originating from the flames coating his weapons of choice.

Fear set in quickly. He watched with a bored stare as the man’s fair complexion made red by the chill of the night air paled suddenly. He would have been more amused at the idea of revealing his prey to be a mere sheep in wolf’s clothing, but his amusement was tempered with his agitation. Already, the woman was in need of protection, she’d get herself killed without it, just now she’d been moments from death. And worst of all, this was the woman that he was indebted to. He scowled and watched as the mercenary jumped in response to his expression, an unintentional action—physical evidence of his desire to flee. _Herbivore._ He lunged…

…but didn’t get further than an inch, his movement all but unnoticed when she spoke up.

“It was good advice.”

He watched the herbivore snap his attention to his left—to the all, but forgotten woman.

“You really should have taken it.”

The shot that followed was too quick for the frightened man to even react to let alone do anything about.

Kyoya was mildly surprised when the body hit the ground, a metal slug burrowed precisely between his eyes. He let his eyes wander to the newly made murderer and narrowed his eyes. She wasn’t even looking at the man’s body. Instead it looked like she hadn’t even taken her eyes off the wolf and if not for the chrome plated Desert Eagle still grasped in her right hand he would’ve questioned if she’d actually done it.

Taking a few steps in her direction, he stopped just short of ten feet from her. To say he was surprised by her actions would be exaggerating, but…still he never thought she actually had it in her to do it. He moved his gaze from her to the still and unmoving body of her seemingly constant shadow. It was a good shot; he died quickly. He lifted his gaze back to her tense shoulders and down to the white knuckled grip she held on the pilfered weapon. _No_ , it really wasn’t surprising.

 

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                Her eyes were heavy, swimming with unshed tears, but she refused to blink—refused to close her eyes against what she was seeing. Her free hand was still clutching at his fur, still feeling the warmth of his body receding rapidly as the crimson puddle made contact with her knees. _He didn’t suffer_. That’s what her mind told her. He barely felt it. The shot went straight into his heart. She knew this—both as a Veterinarian technician and as a hunter…but that didn’t stop the pain in her own heart. Quick death or not, he was dead. She flinched when the sound of his pained whimper echoed in her memory. It brought with it a fresh wave of tears, but she clenched her jaw against it. Now was not the time, she couldn’t—no matter how much she wanted to—she couldn’t afford to feel sorry for Dakota…to feel sorry for herself.

                No sooner had she come to this conclusion, did he address her, “Woman.” She blinked involuntarily.

 

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                The only response he received was a slight twitch, but he took it to mean that she heard him at the very least. “You’ll be dead soon, if you continue to just sit there.”

                He waited a full minute before he scowled. He really should just let her sit there—let her get herself killed, but a part of him was annoyed that he couldn’t return a debt, particularly one where the debt was his own life. Of course, _really_ , it wasn’t that he couldn’t…it was more so that he found himself not wanting to. After all, the woman was practically suicidal. Who was he to deny her wishes—subconscious or not? Still, a debt was a debt and he made his way to her, but stopped when she lifted her head suddenly.

                With an ease that bellied what was sure to be her mental state, she leaned back on her heels and stood. He was considering questioning her mental state when she began to check the gun’s ammo level. She seemed satisfied and tucked the weapon in the back of her jeans. She turned in his direction and though he could see the wet streaks drying on her cheeks, the look in her eyes was in direct opposition of any emotion he’d relate to tears. She took a few steps towards him and retrieved what was likely her dropped weapon, a Glock that she held like an extension of her arm. His stare narrowed at her. The gaze in her grey eyes was anything but sad, instead it was a look of focus—of determination…but a determination for what? _Vengeance?_ His mind wandered unbidden to the corpse behind him. _Unlikely._

                She looked at him then, stared right at him, as if waiting for something, but when he only stared back at her, a brow raised in askance, she snorted and looked back forward. A moment later she was stepping deeper into the forest. He followed off to the side. He’d have rather reentered the fight on his own terms…but someone had to make sure she didn’t get herself killed…and unfortunately, that someone was him.

 

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                She didn’t know what to expect when she trekked into the dark woods, the moon just barely permitting her from being all but blind—aware of Kyoya’s presence only by a vague glow somewhere to her left—so she expected nothing. Or rather she tried to, but it was difficult when she knew they were out there. And it wasn’t even paranoia that alerted her to the fact. They were loud. For a girl who’d grown up in these very woods, learned to hunt in them—in a place where the slightest rustle could make potential prey flee for the hills—these men, whoever they were, were about as loud as a college frat party. Even Kyoya wasn’t as quiet as he could be. She’d seen him pace around her house, he could be quieter if he wanted to, but as she listened to his steps she realized he simply didn’t care. She remembered his expression when he learned these men had arrived and scowled. Of course he wouldn’t be quiet. Why would he? He _wanted_ them to find him.

                And sure enough a yell overwhelmed the sound of their movements as one apparently spotted her aloof houseguest. She stayed quiet, though. And when they all turned their attention to him, she stepped into easy range without their notice. It was really only a fluke that one of them had noticed her, wiping sweat from his brow; the motion drew his attention to his peripheral vision. His head jerked in her direction.

                She’d been taught to aim for the heart when hunting, but she recalled her father’s words as she raised the gun level with her shoulder. _‘Don’t worry about trying for a trophy kill when you’re hunting predators.’ His voice came from over her shoulder as she aimed for the practice target._

 _‘_ Predators?’ _Her own voice filled with derision. ‘_ What _predators?’_

_He laughed slightly. ‘Wolves, Bears, …and other things.’_

_She rolled her eyes and looked back at him, taking in his dark blonde hair hastily pushed away from his forehead and the grey blue eyes that stared down at her with a look of amusement. ‘Dad…I_ know _all the wolves in the area. I’m not going to have to shoot them.’_

_‘Alright, alright…bears then, Char…imagine it’s a bear.’_

_She continued to stare at him blandly, before scowling at him, ‘Grandad says there haven’t been any bears anywhere near the preserve in_ years _.’ She’d stressed the word in the way all teens were prone to do when annoyed._

_She hadn’t understood the look in his eyes when the amusement faded. She remembered ignoring it because he still kept the smile on his face, but now…the reasoning behind it was frighteningly clear.  ‘Trust me, Char…you never know when you might run into something that wants to make you it’s prey.’_

_The fourteen year old version of herself was about to make a sarcastic come-back, but Charles turned her around and brought her arms back up, though she shook him off and took aim on her own._

                His following words were in her ear again when she pulled the trigger. _‘If ever you face a predator, you make sure it’s down in the first shot. Aim—’_ “…between the eyes.” She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud as she watched the man fall back. She’d have probably let the memory linger in her mind if not for the alarm that went up as her shot rang out. She couldn’t…not if she wanted to live.

                “It’s the bitch! Get rid of her!” She flinched and she wasn’t sure who said it, but the annoyance it brought gave her focus…not for the insult, but because they seemed to think they’d be rid of her so easily.  Her jaw clenched as she shifted her grip.

 

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                His attention was split between the three suited mercenaries coming at him and the female to his far right. To be honest, however, the woman held his attention more. The men in front of him were of little concern and easily dispatched, he was more interested in the woman’s fight…and that’s exactly what it had become. There were constant gunshots ringing out from the area, but judging from their movement, none of the mercenaries’ hastily fired off rounds hit their targets. In contrast, the woman hadn’t wasted a single shot and Kyoya was surprised when _none_ of her targets got back up. _Where had this suddenly ruthless mentality come from?_

He scowled when he was brought back to his current situation by a glint of metal in the corner of his gaze. He swung his left arm back and the herbivore cried loudly when the gun was flung from his grasp by a tonfa…but not as loudly as when Kyoya’s foot stomped down on his knee with a wet pop. Agitated by his vocals, the former prefect silenced him with a blow to the throat. Done with the immediate _threat_ , he moved closer to the throng, smirking at the crowd that begun to run towards him.

                He was far from being a stranger to battle and had ceased being so at a young age, so he was quite familiar with diverting his attention to more than one thing, especially when he was barely being challenged. And as far as the woman’s life was concerned…that was probably a good thing. A talented shooter she might be, she was nowhere near experienced enough to continue holding her own, she’d lost the upper hand—surprise—and was being overwhelmed, if not by sheer number, then by the change in tactics. Some of them had foregone their weapons and had begun charging in with melee combat.  She lasted longer than expected, her own unrestrained anger and fighting skill leading her to damage them just as badly as a whole if not individually.

                Still, by the time his last opponent dropped a click drew his gaze. She was on her knees, her chest heaving for air, her fist clenched in what he could only imagine to be the fury seen in her eyes, but most noticeable was her hair cinched tightly in a large hand; its partner holding a revolver against her temple. Despite the scene, Kyoya smirked in amusement at the man holding her, the two to the side as well. Unlike the men laid out on the ground they were still standing, but the telltale evidence of scarlet gouge marks and swelling flesh told him it wasn’t something accomplished with ease. Even the man holding her had dark crimson tracks gleaming above his lip, the remainder of the blood that must’ve gushed forth when her fist impacted with his nose. His attention shifted when he spoke.

                “Come any closer and she’s dead.”

                He blinked. Sure, some part of him was vaguely aware that he’d try to hold her hostage, but it was so like him to not care, that he’d momentarily forgotten that he owed her a life debt. He considered his options for a moment, but eventually decided that it wasn’t worth his time to think it over and simply decided to do what he was going to do anyway and stepped forward…or he would have…if he hadn’t met her gaze that same time. He wasn’t really sure what she was planning, but he was suddenly made aware of the fact that she didn’t want his help.

 

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                She’d seen the flash of metal from beneath his sleeve right before he shoved the Colt against her temple. It reminded her of the remaining weapon on her person, just out of reach at her ankle. … _His_ would have to do for now. She was just waiting really and when the soon-to-be-dead-man spoke to Kyoya, lifting her slightly with a jerk of her hair, she went for it. He of course snatched his hand back reflexively when he felt her fingers slide up his sleeve, but by then it was too late and she’d already triggered the spring loaded release of the switchblade. She jabbed the thin stiletto blade into his wrist, allowing the metal to pry apart his tendons, just as he made to bring the gun back to her head.

                His muffled screech was emphasized by the sudden jerk of her head as he pulled at her hair. She sneered at the sharp tug and twisted the blade with a vicious quickness. The bellow that followed was marked by the release of her hair. Taking that moment, she tugged on the thin blade, grinding it over his bone and grabbed at his arm. He was knocked breathless when she flipped him over on his back and before he could even make a move to show his protest she jerked at the blade. The sudden jolt of pain caused his face to twist and body to arch to a halt. She didn’t hesitate when she snatched the much larger hunting knife from her boot. And when she shoved it into his chest, felt the blade sink through tissue, scrape between rib bones and puncture his rapidly beating organ, Charlie tried to liken it to hunting. She felt him lurch beneath her as she watched the life fade from his eyes as she’d done with deer and small game over the years, but as his gaze dulled she realized there was a major difference between the death of this man and the death of the countless game animals she’d hunted: _…she actually_ wanted _him dead._

                She was still sitting straddled atop his body when another body seemingly dropped to her right. She glanced at it before looking to its place of origin. Kyoya was staring at her handiwork and a part of her felt chastised that she hadn’t even noticed him taking out the other two. She didn’t say anything when she stood, tugging the blade free from the mercenary’s chest. She refused to acknowledge the fact that her attempt may have very well gotten her killed if he hadn’t taken care of the other two. Instead she just stared at the crimson liquid that was beginning to drip sluggishly off her knife. She knew from experience that it would become tacky as it dried and eventually darken to a rusted brown. And if she left it there, it would ruin the blade. Slowly, her gaze drifted down to the body and to the bodies of his companions in search of some kind of cloth. _…anything_ was better than recognizing just what was happening.

                She didn’t get far in her search when a low buzzing noise sounded from the forest. She froze and in a brief moment of panic, she hurriedly looked about for more ATVs, but she found none and as the sound grew closer it began to sound more like droning rather than the roar of an engine. Her eyes narrowed then widened in awe when the forest seemed to light up with seemingly hundreds of glowing green insects. Her awe _quickly_ turned to apprehension when she noticed the slight cackling of what appeared to be lightning surrounding them.

                Beside her, Kyoya was smirking and looking incredibly pleased, however his expression soon soured into a scowl when he seemed to remember her presence and he shot her a look of disdain. “The knife won’t help you any.”

               

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Bzzz Bzzzz Bzzz Bzzz—**

                He snatched the electronic device from the nightstand with a tired scowl, his eyes barely cracked open and revealing blurry sight. “Hello?” his voice dry and rough with sleep, Tetsuya answered the phone.

                He immediately noticed that Kaoru’s tone was unusually business like, _“Tetsuya-san, we’ve noticed several odd reports of consistent gunshot. And according to the times of the phone calls, it’s been going on for hours.”_

                “Where?” Tetsuya shot up to a sitting position and swung his feet onto the floor.

                _“Honestly? It looks like the middle of nowhere Montana….mostly forest. The only form of civilization to be found—_ if you can call it that _—is some type of reservation. …but…it isn’t all that far from a highway. And knowing Hibari-san…it’s likely within traveling distance of his last known location.”_

                There was no hesitation in his voice as he stood. “Do whatever you can to delay the authorities—

                _“Already on it, sir.”_

                He nodded to himself as he snatched up the complimentary note pad and pen left in his hotel room, “Give me the coordinates.”


	14. Visual Tempest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyouya gets some exercise. Meanwhile, Charlie gets more than she bargained for and more...

**The Nature of the Beast**

 

**_Chapter Thirteen: Visual Tempest_ **

****

She drew her eyes from the disturbing sight and tried to overlook the way she began to relax at his calm appearance.

“The guns will serve you better.” He narrowed his eyes at her as he readjusted his grip. “Try not to miss.”

“Miss?” She questioned and no sooner had she spoke up did the swarm of insect swoop in. Eyes wide she turned back to him, “Wait! What do you me—“ She cut herself off as she jerked out of the way of the flying bug. _Was that a giant hornet?_ She wasn’t given time to linger on the question as the abnormally large creatures darted in at her. Clenching her teeth, she scowled as she was forced to duck and dodge her way to the guns she’d involuntarily released in the earlier struggle. Dropping and rolling as a low flyer passed over her with barely an inch to spare she snatched up the Glock, aimed and fired. She smiled, pleased—as the creature fell to the ground and promptly withered on itself, seeming to fade into nothing—that something was finally going easy for her. This was no harder than a target practice game. Her smile shifted to a grin as she fired again, bringing another down, “Hah!”

They were getting wary now, circling her cautiously, but she wasn’t too worried. She aimed the muzzle at the nearest one and pulled the trigger. _..._ nothing happened. She stared. Nervously, she pulled the trigger a second time and when nothing happened once more, she shifted her gaze to the hornets. Sure enough, they were no longer circling her and instead were hovering just out of reach and she was positive that if she could get close enough, she’d find her gun— _empty of ammo—_ reflected in their compound eyes.

 They dove.

“…Fuck.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                Kyoya was unconcerned with the pests; instead he all but blocked them out, his eyes scanning the forest for a trace of their wielder. _There!_ A flash of green light deep in the woods. He spared the woman a quick glance and decided that she was capable of defending herself from a few insects. Without another moment’s hesitation, he sprinted into the trees, barely noticing the hornets in his path except for the odd one that was struck down reflexively by his weapon. He was getting closer and could just barely make out the figure of a lanky older male, his dark brown hair reflecting with the sheen of green light thrown off by the single Electric Hornet that hovered near his head.

                For a moment, Kyoya wondered briefly why the man was standing so smugly, not a trace of worry or even preparation in his stance. It was only for a moment because he received the answer immediately afterwards in the form of his senses alerting him to the actions at his left. His eyes flickered over and amidst the wash of red flames something made his eyes widen. He leaned his body back and watched as the Storm Halberd passed harmlessly in front of his face. The flames weren’t even the right type… _but even still_ …when he’d seen the black staff topped by the edge of a sharp blade, some part of his mind had called on the image of a _trident_. He grit his teeth.  He still hadn’t had a chance to pay him back. … _Rokudo Mukuro_. He turned to look at the man who’d missed by so narrow a mark.

                The halberd’s wielder was still fully in range of attacking him and yet, he’d completely frozen at the sight of Kyoya’s face, or better yet at the sight of his murderous gaze and the subtle twitch of his upper lip. He dropped his attention to the ground when Kyoya released the tonfa in his right hand and before he could even second guess his actions he found Kyoya’s hand gripped tightly around his wrist. Without a second to spare, the remaining tonfa was swung into his face. The cap of the weapon dislocating his jaw immediately with an unmistakable crack and the wicked snap that followed ending his life as the sheer force of impact shoved his head further to the left than his spine would allow.

                Sliding his hand back to the halberd’s staff, Kyoya snatched the weapon from a limp grasp before the body even hit the ground. A moment later he was tossing the weapon to the side like the liter it was. Not even paying attention to the Lightning flame user, he bent to retrieve his dropped tonfa. When he stood, his gaze flickered over and his lips curled into a barely noticeable smirk. It only emphasized the look of murder in his eyes.

                Frightened, a visible tremor coursing through his frame, the lightning user struggled to swallow as he panicked and recalled his hornets. _The beast had cornered him._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                Meanwhile Charlie was pissed. _Where the fuck had that asshole gone?!_ She could have sworn he was standing over to the left just a second ago. She’d gotten caught in the swarm for just one moment— _one moment_ —and he was gone. Just like that. Inwardly rolling her eyes as she realized at this rate she was likely to make a list of reasons to hate him, she paused in her search for a new magazine— _there were only so many bodies in the clearing to search_ —and looked up. The hornets were returning to the woods and—she narrowed her eyes—moving in the direction that she’d bet everything she owned Kyoya had disappeared to. Relieved, she let out a sigh and let her shoulders slump forward, only to wince and pick her shoulders back up. The sudden movement had aggravated an injury.

She felt annoyed calling a hornet sting—oversized or not—an injury, but it really was painful. She’d gotten it when one of the little bastards had gotten behind her and landed between her shoulder blades. The damned thing had already shoved the stinger in before she had the sense to slam her back against a tree, crushing it with ease. If she hadn’t confirmed that the insect had vanished like all the others before, she’d swear up and down that the stinger was still there. Absently she rubbed at the spot on her back and took a moment to catch her breath.

She was contemplating sitting down when a crunch drew her attention. Standing just in the line of trees was a tall broad shouldered man, his blonde hair pale under the moon’s light. But it was not his hair or even his form that she stared at. What truly held her gaze captive were the loops of coiled metal glinting at his side. “Fancy meeting you here… _all alone_ …no big bad wolf to protect you.”

She sneered at him. She knew he was probably referring to Kyoya, but Dakota was the one that her mind pulled to the surface.

A snap and the coils fell to the ground in serpentine fashion, the metal length a narrow tip at one end and at the other, the weapons thicker handle held firmly in his grasp. She stared. It was a whip. A god damned _metal_ whip. … _what the fuck._ She looked up to his dark eyed gaze and her eyes slid to the only body she hadn’t checked yet and could just barely make out what looked to be a spare magazine tucked in the back of his pants. It was unfortunate that the blonde had followed her stare. He grinned cheekily and drew his arm back. Her eyes flew open and she turned to cut and run faster than she ever had in her life, her hurried steps kicking up leaves and debris. Her fingers had just brushed against the metal casing of the cartridge when the stream of silver passed in front of her eyes. Reflexively she brought a hand up to stop it, but it did her little good and with a sudden snap she was pulled back off her feet. She gasped and her eyes watered as the metal bit tightly against her neck. Futilely, she tried using her trapped hand to push away the metal cord, but no matter what she tried she’d never have the strength to remove the crushing pressure on her throat…not when she was being dragged in the opposite direction.

She grunted when she stumbled over a body, unable to even cringe when she was dragged into the puddle of blood that had collected onto the ground after she’d flipped his body earlier in search of ammo. She scowled at the uncomfortable feeling of something pressing into her back. She was getting light headed and she could feel the circulation of blood in her hand coming to a standstill. She clenched her teeth and forced herself to keep fighting.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. We can’t have that now, can we?” His words were a disembodied whisper somewhere in the edges of her blurred vision. There was a strange feeling flaring beneath her hand and against her throat. She was transfixed by the shimmering blue glow that was suddenly cast on her skin. With the cool feeling came an uneasy peace. It sapped her of her strength and she found herself losing the will to struggle. _A blue flame._ She was reminded of Kyoya when she least wanted to be, however at that moment he came to her rescue in a most unintended manner.

A scream shot up from the forest and her captor jerked his head in its direction. Simultaneously, he loosened his grip and her head fell to the ground with a thump and while the metal was still coiled uncomfortably tight around her neck she found she was able to breath now. He probably wasn’t too concerned with her fighting back at this point. He wasn’t wrong, she’d be lucky if she could even do more than blink at this rate. Her eyes stared passively at the dancing blue flames that surrounded the weapon.  …S _hame something so pretty was going to be the death of her…but at least is was nicer to look at than some ugly guy’s mug._ She could almost accept death really, but there was just one thing bothering her…she scowled. Whatever it was, it was aggravating the hornet sting on her back. …something  about the size of her hand, hard…metal?

Another scream rang out and with its weakened ending there was no doubting that it was final. The whip jerked at her throat for a moment and then she blinked when the blue flames flickered out.

“Tch. Dumbass. Went and got himself killed….”

He wasn’t worried about the woman. She was already half dead and pacified by his Rain flames. Instead he turned his gaze eastward and contemplated how he was going to deal with the much bigger problem: Hibari Kyoya.

He really should have spared just a bit more attention to his immediate left, his whip giving a slight tug for a moment, before…

“Hey.” She scowled at the harshly broken sound that escaped her throat.

His eyes bugged as he took in the unexpected sight and before he could attempt to pull the whip that was still loosely wrapped around her neck taught, she pulled the trigger.

Her scowl deepened when he fell back. He wasn’t dead. He might be dying, but he wasn’t dead. Charlie gave her trembling arm a look of betrayal. She missed. She’d been aiming at his head and had instead shot him in the neck. She could hear the harsh wet gasps as he choked on his own blood. Standing on unstable legs she looked down at him with disdain. … _perhaps it was poetic justice._

Still she stared at the Colt .45 pistol in her hand and frowned. To think…she had almost _died._ In fact, the only reason she didn’t just lay there and wait for him to finish her off was because of the aggravating pain in her back. She’d fallen back on the very same pistol that had been against her temple not half an hour ago. She was disgusted with herself. _She only reached for the pistol because she was too uncomfortable to die!_ She growled and tore her gaze from the weapon. Staring in Kyoya’s direction, she forced herself onward. Her footing becoming more sure with every step.

Charlie nearly sighed in relief when a purple glow came into view, but she didn’t of course…she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She’d only just opened her mouth to insult him, when she realized something was off. While the glow was definitely the same purple flame she’d seen him use, it was lower to the ground and there were three sources of the flame…unlike the two flames on Kyoya’s weapons.

There was a deep growl and its origins were whatever the flame was coming from. She scowled then. How she hated that man.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                The Lightning flame user was easily dispatched, but he’d dragged it out a few minutes longer than necessary. Just the mere thought of the illusionist had caused his irritation to peak and he eagerly took the chance to take it out on someone. He was just flicking his tonfa only to stare contemplatively at the stubborn remains of blood that refused to leave when someone began clapping. Slowly, his eyes lifted and stared at the figure to his right. Not even twenty feet from him was a woman.  She was reclining against a tree, a mocking smile on her distinctly Asian features.

                “Well done, Hibari-sama.”

                He narrowed his eyes into a glare. _Even her tone was mocking._ He turned to face her, but he was more focused on the weapon that reclined next to her, a long metal staff, six feet in length. “I don’t care for your humor.” His voice was devoid of all but one emotion: annoyance. “Either come at me…or die quietly.” He lunged in.

                As expected he watched her mocking façade shift into a stony stare as she met and parried his blow with her staff. “As you wish.”

                He snorted, but began his onslaught nonetheless. The small clearing began to echo with the sounds of clanging metal as he struck for her with savage speed. Part of him was amused when she continued to parry each of his blows, the majority of him however was annoyed she wouldn’t just die. And it was that part that caused his weapons to ignite with violet flames. He struck anew with agitated vengeance.

                She was hit with surprise when his weapon seemingly cleaved the top half of her staff clean off, the very edge of the blow dragging a jagged cut just beneath her right eye.  Calming herself she gave him a grunt of appraisal before letting a twisted smirk replace her mask as a bright wavering yellow flame flickered to life from the ring on her finger. She twirled her staff, her flames running along the weapon before snapping it out to strike air. Along with the sudden movement, the metal extended to its original length. A moment later and the wound on her cheek bone had faded from existence.

                And yet despite this reveal, her twisted smirk was no match for the predatory one stretching over his lips. _…perhaps he might me be amused after all._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                A jackal. A mother fucking _jackal._ She clenched her jaw as she sprinted through the trees. She could hear it not even five feet behind her. She’d never seen one in person, but she learned enough about canines to know one when she saw it and there was no mistaking that it was jackal nearly nipping at her heels. A rather odd matte black jackal with 3 purple flames emitting from its ears and tail, but a flaming animal trying to kill her was still something trying to kill her regardless. She leapt over a fallen tree and stumbled her landing. It was a good thing she had, too. Elsewise the blade that went whizzing into a tree with surprising force would have gone through her head, not over it.

                Bewildered, she stared at the dagger that had impaled the tree. It was rather ornate for a modern knife with its simple hand guard indicating its use for close range battle; she figured the blade itself had to be nearly a foot in length. She cursed herself for letting her attention be held by a knife for as no sooner had she brought her gaze down had the jackal, now within range leapt at her. On the ground and with no other option she threw up her arm to fend against letting the beast tear her throat out.

                She screamed when its jaws locked over her wrist and grunted in pain as its teeth pushed at her bones, but inwardly she was grateful that its mouth had closed over the sides of her appendage saving the more fragile tendons and veins at her inner wrist from damage. Still, she knew this beast’s owner was growing closer and she couldn’t afford to just sit here like a presented gift. Frantically she searched for a weapon, having dispatched the Colt when she realized that it had only held one bullet—the same bullet that had gone through the throat of the whip user. She’d been livid at that realization and swore at what she felt could only have been the bad habits of the Colt’s original owner. _Who forgot to reload their ammo in a life or death battle!?_

                She was pulled from her thoughts when the jackal shook his head and his teeth pushed harder at her bones. She snarled in pain and renewed her efforts. A shape in the upper corner of her vision tugged at her attention just as the footsteps grew closer. She tilted her head back and stared at the dagger. Wrenching at her wrist and doing her best to ignore the pain of the animal’s teeth dragging through her flesh, she raised her other arm and with a strenuous tug that was likely to cost her later pulled the dagger from the tree. Flipping it in her grasp, she didn’t even bother to question her actions when she plunged the weapon into the right eye of the creature.

                She flinched at the strangled whine that came from it as it began to fade—so much like Dakota’s last sound. She stared and tried not to wonder too hard about the seemingly ghost like creature that had nearly managed to tear off her hand.

                “You cold hearted bitch.” The words were meant to sound upset as the mercenary was staring at the spot where his pet had vanished from, but the tone that drenched his words was instead amused.

                She stood and took in the sight of her latest opponent. There was nothing special about him, but for the crooked scar down his left cheek…that and the matching dagger in his left hand. She looked to her right hand and knew that even though her wrist had gotten off easy, it was in no condition to use for a knife fight. Clenching the knife in her left hand she silently thanked god for all the hours her father had put into making her ambidextrous. Looking again at her opponent and at the knife clutched in his own left hand, she realized that it was unlikely the man wouldn’t be holding it there if he couldn’t use it and given that he had thrown the other with his right hand, chances were likely that he too was ambidextrous.

                Hiding her scowl, she spoke to him, “These the only weapons you have?”

                He smiled at her pleasantly and in a way that was mockingly patronizing. “Yep. Pretty much. “ He gave her a questioning look, “…Mind returning his brother?” He raised the dagger in his hand. “Little fella’s gotten lonely.”

                She narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw. Taking a breath and releasing it, she nodded. “Gladly.” She lunged.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                Kyoya’s smirk had been positively savage when he’d first begun battering at the Sun flame wielder. She kept up for the first few minutes, but it quickly grew obvious that she lacked the stamina to keep up with him and Sun flame or not, she could only heal herself so quickly. He was growing bored. Sun flame wielders were passing amusements for him to take his anger out on occasionally, but in the end the whole thing eventually became repetitive and he was reminded of the zombie-like Daisy and the even more annoying Sasagawa. He nearly rolled his eyes as just the mere thought of the exuberant boxer took away his desire to fight almost entirely. He was going to end this.

                He stopped and the woman stumbled in surprise catching her breath. She stared at his immobile form and soon glared, disbelief etching into her features. “What? Don’t tell me you’re being merciful now? Have you decided you can’t kill me?” She snarled the words at him before darting in and swinging the staff at his head.

                He ducked under the sweep and keeping his weapons at his side, he kicked her in the center of her sternum, sending her stumbling back. And before she could catch herself there was a wet sound of penetration emphasized by the crunch of an object breaking through cartilage and grinding against bone…the spine to be precise. She let out an asphyxiated gasp, gagging on the blood that was welling its way up her throat and stared at the massive silver spike protruding from her front, pierced straight through her lung from behind. Crimson poured over her lips and streamed onto her white dress shirt. “ _How?_ ” her words were barely a whisper.

                Kyoya didn’t answer, he only raised an eyebrow. As the spike slid from her body with a jerk, her head tilted back and her fading vision was granted the sight of hundreds of floating violet orbs, each varied in size, but all of them covered in large oversized metal spikes. She fell to her knees. _When did he…._ She died wondering.

                Satisfied that the Sun user was no longer his issue he recalled the hedgehog to his box and searched for the woman. No doubt, she’d found some other way to put her life in danger. He was only two steps in her direction when movement drew his attention to his left. He cocked his head and waited for the newcomer to step closer.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                She was being pushed back, she knew it. Crossing blades was all well and fine…if you were the stronger opponent, but despite all the years of fist fights and hard work, the man was the stronger one and they _both_ knew it. She struggled to get the upper hand and lashed out with a fist. He chuckled at her action and ducked. She nearly screamed as her hand came in contact with a tree. She felt a crack in two of her fingers and the renewed ache in her wrist told her it did not appreciate the impact. The loss in focus gave him the opening to shove a booted foot into her ribs. She stumbled back and gasped, her injured hand clutching at her side. _God…at this rate she was beginning to remind herself of Kyoya when she first found him._

                The mercenary sniggered. “You’re feisty. I like that. But!” he trailed off with a cool smile, “…I can’t let you live…and I don’t have all day. So,” he shifted the knife in his hand from the earthly position of being pointed at the ground and held it so the point tilted skyward, “let’s get this over, shall we?”

                She knew it was bad when the purple flame channeled up the edge of the blade, but at that rate there wasn’t much she could do, except stare in morbid enthrallment when the knife suddenly extended in length to a full sized sword. She expected it to stop there, but it didn’t and instead continued to grow. She stared unflinchingly when he brought it to the level of her neck and swung.

                She hadn’t even blinked when the slug burrowed its way through the side of his head. She did blink when the ridiculously long blade fell to the ground and promptly shrunk to its original size, however. She stared at the man’s fallen body a moment longer before allowing herself to breathe. Slowly she turned to look at the shooter. His figure outlined by the dull glow of the rising sun. She gaped, her thoughts transfixed on the strange, but familiar shape of his hair. _Who the hell wore a pompadour in this day and age?_


	15. Epilogue: GTFO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it comes to a bone weary end...

**The Nature of the Beast**

 

**_Epilogue: G.T.F.O._ **

****

                Kyoya stared as the faceless figure suddenly sported a lax smirk and a full head of dark and intentionally tousled hair under the growing light of dawn. He took one look at his face and let a small frown cross his features. “Kaoru.”

                “Kyoya-sama.” The suited individual now known as Kaoru bowed to his superior.

                “…No wonder all the herbivores have gone missing.” His tone was mildly annoyed. He’d been looking forward to finishing off the herd, but instead his employees had taken care of it, namely, the one in front of him, Nozumi Kaoru. It wasn’t a fact that he liked.

                “Is that a problem, Kyoya-sama?” Kaoru cocked his head inquisitively. “We assumed that you were _preoccupied_ …” he trailed off and his eyes slid over to the female mercenary’s body.

                Kyoya snorted. _Hardly. If he really wanted that woman out of the way, she’d have been dead before she even began using her flames—regenerative abilities or not._ Kyoya paused then, his thoughts drifting to the most prominent female in his mind. “There was a woman out here, a …” he hesitated on his word choice. _What could he call her? It would be almost insulting to call her a civilian and there was no way he could call her an innocent as he highly doubted the term would have fit her, even before she took a man’s life._ He glared for a moment, before relenting to just the facts. “She’s the owner of this reserve. She was caught up in the attack.” He began moving in what he believed be her direction. _She should have been closer to the cabin than he was._

                Kaoru gave an understanding nod as he trekked behind him a few steps.  “Ah,” he intoned in agreement, “you’re referring to Charlene Thompson, correct?”

                When Kyoya didn’t correct him, he continued, “Tetsuya-san should be coming upon her now.”

                A frown etched its way onto Kyoya’s face. “Tetsu?” He paused in his steps, “Why wasn’t he the one to meet me?” He wasn’t upset by the lack of his second’s presence, but rather he found it somewhat unusual…and preferable to present company.

                “When we arrived, we were aware of two battles taking place, Kyoya-sama. And in both, there were cloud flames detected.” He slowed as Kyoya gave him a poisonous look, but continued when the stare persisted.  He cleared his throat and pressed on, “We were unable to determine which one was you from a distance, so we split up. If I found you, then it’s likely that Tetsuya has found the reserve owner…or at least her body.” Kaoru had been putting it bluntly when he spoke as he knew well what the chances of a normal person surviving an encounter with a mercenary were, let alone one using dying will flames, yet he blinked when his superior suddenly snorted at his words and continued moving, “Kyoya-sama?”

                If only she’d been that easy to get rid of. She was by no means a threat herself, but she wasn’t normal…not by most standards anyway. She was surprisingly capable and not just skill wise, she’d adapted to the situation remarkably well…although she seemed unwilling to kill at first. He hadn’t been surprised when the wolf had been killed, but he had been surprised when she reacted the way she did. Part of him had been hoping that she’d just break down and turn out to be just exactly what he thought she was: an herbivore. He’d been wrong…but she wasn’t like _him_ either, she was not a predator. She was…

                “Kyoya-sama?” Kaoru’s questing tone cut into his thoughts and the acknowledgement of his personal name grated on his mood.

                Kyoya looked back at him. “Nozumi…”

                The man in question blinked, “Yes, Kyoya-sama?”

                “You have been warned repeatedly against referring to me so closely.” He eyed the rich, dark fabrics of his employee’s clothing. No doubt another tailored Armani suit. Nozumi Kaoru was known for his obsession with material possessions. “Your pay is docked by half for the next six months.”

                He stumbled over a tree root in his surprise, “K-Hibari-sama?” The confidence in his tone had completely dissolved to disbelief.

                Kyoya would rather have simply left his most agitating subordinate laid out on the ground, courtesy of his tonfa, but knowing what he _did_ …Nozumi would probably like it. He narrowed his eyes at the thought and pressed on at a quicker pace, not willing to be around him any longer. _Masochist._ Just the mere thought of the fact left a bad taste in his mouth, so he turned to the lesser of evils—the only other thing on his mind: the woman. _Was she actually still alive?_ Sure, she’d held her own earlier, but as the night wore on she seemed to get closer to death with each encounter. He wondered just how well her luck had held out...especially against a flame user. If she was dead, then his obligation to her was null and void…but if she had in fact died…then he’d failed at his self-appointed task of keeping her alive—of returning the favor and ridding himself of the life debt. Perhaps, Tetsuya had not been too late.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                “So let me get this straight...”She rubbed at her temples, attempting to ease the migraine building behind her eyes from fatigue and stress. “You actually work for that asshole?” She gave the pompadour decked man an incredulous stare.

                Tetsuya had the decency to humor her with a small uncomfortable smile, “…Yes.”

                She snorted, “He must pay well, then.”

                Tetsuya watched her from the corner of his gaze as they trudged steadily toward her home, “Kyo-san,” he hesitated as he stumbled over the Japanese suffix and remembered he was speaking English, “Kyoya pays decently, yes, but why do you say so?”

                She gave him a disbelieving stare, “Because, Kyoya is a dick.”

                Tetsuya blinked at her matter-of-fact tone and her comfort at speaking the former prefect’s personal name. _Perhaps it was just because she was American and simply didn’t know Kyo-san well enough to know how he’d perceive her usage of it?_

                “Personally, I don’t see how anyone would want to work with a psycho jackass like him, let alone work _for_ him.”

                _…or perhaps she did and was just unconcerned with her safety…_

Tetsuya let out a slight chuckle, it was nervous and uneasy. He’d never had to defend or even explain his longtime friend and boss’ personality. Most people were either too afraid to question it or were a part of some criminal organization and seemed to respect Kyoya’s nature. This woman, however, who had undoubtedly witnessed not only his fighting ability and personality, but had inhabited the same space as him for nearly a week—but not before saving his life as she had explained—seemed completely unafraid of him. _Was it just an act? …or was she just really suicidal?_ Tetsuya grimaced as he felt his own headache coming on. “Kyo-san...” he hesitated at the suffix again, but continued when no confusion surfaced in her gaze, “is not the easiest person to work with, I must admit, but really it’s not as bad as it seems.” At her dubious look, he added on, “Trust me, I’ve known him for over a decade, now. He used to be a lot worse when he was younger.”

                She nearly stopped entirely to give him a wide eyed look of awed disbelief, as if to say ‘ _Worse? How could he possibly get worse?!’_

Tetsuya only gave her a placating smile and continued onward, stepping past the tree line and into the clearing surrounding the main house of the reserve. The early dawn light shone clearly onto the area and he allowed himself a sharp inhale at the sight of what was once likely a rather picturesque cabin, but as he studied the shattered glass windows, the log walls riddled with holes and pock marks from endless sprays of bullets—not to mention the trashed ATV in the middle of the clearing—he realized that the cabin, much like it’s owner had suffered throughout the night. He spared the woman next to him a glance, awaiting what was likely to be a rather explosive reaction, he just wasn’t sure of what kind.

                His expectations were denied however, as she merely stood there, her arms crossed over her chest, a drying blood stain beneath her limbs drawing his attention to her injured wrist. Her reaction was not explosive, but it was there, he noted, as she stared seemingly dead eyed at her property and it would have been a believable expression if not for the tenseness in her shoulders and the slow simmering rage building in her gaze the longer she stared. His eyes remained on her, on the snarled mess her hair had become, leaves and twigs ensnared in its length— _either she’d been rolling around in the debris or she’d been dragged_ — at the scratches that crossed over her arms, the faint darkening over her arms and over her cheek bones—the beginning of what was likely to be some rather nasty bruises. He lingered on the reddened flesh around her neck. _Had she been_ strangled _at some point?_ She clenched her jaw suddenly and he could see the subtle movement as she ground her teeth. His gaze slid to her mouth, her bottom lip was slightly swollen and badly split, the wound just beginning to seal.

                _All in all_ , Tetsuya decided after several moments of study, _the woman was lucky…exceptionally so._ It was a wonder she was even alive at all, let alone walking around.

                “Ms. Thompson?”

                She gave him a bland stare, but acknowledged him.

                “Don’t worry about repair costs. We’ll be covering them.”

                She stared at him longer, before looking away, “Whatever.” She left his side then walking over to the side of the cabin where she promptly took a seat on a stump that was normally used for splitting firewood. He followed her with a sympathetic stare before taking out his phone.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                He nearly wanted to sigh in relief when the cabin came into sight. His relief, however, was quickly replaced with annoyance when he noticed how populated the area was. Nevertheless, he ignored the emotion as he took note of what was going on. Several of his employees were quickly moving about, making minor repairs to the property, while a few others were cleaning it up and a much smaller number seemed to be calculating the damage costs. Tetsu’s doing, no doubt. He looked for said man and found him next to the woman, off to the side of the cabin. They seemed to be having a conversation of sorts. The snap of twigs reminded him of his current company and he decided then to interrupt their conversation, lest his most recent annoyance decide to speak up.

                “Tetsu,” he spoke as he neared the two. Both looked at him, but only Tetsuya bowed in greeting, “Kyo-san,” while the woman scowled up at him from her seated position.

                Kyoya took in her injured state and briefly wondered if she had in fact looked that bad the last time he’d seen her and he’d been fooled by the dim lighting or if she had just accumulated new injuries while he was away. Deciding he didn’t care, he gave Tetsuya a pointed stare and began walking away from the crowd. As expected, his second followed without a word. As expected as well, the woman leapt to her feet in protest and as such Kyoya was prepared. “You,” he gestured to the nearest worker, a young man busy picking up the metal remains of a dismantled ATV who instantly paused in his actions to stare up at his boss in surprise, “Make sure the woman gets medical attention, immediately.” He added on as he could practically feel her intent to follow them.

                Tetsuya waited until they were a decent distance before he spoke up, “I’ve already arranged for everything to be taken care of. A larger clean-up crew will be here shortly. Unfortunately considering the time restraints and the distance from civilization, I had to contact Vongola for assistance. Sawada’s going to want to know what happened.”

                Kyoya frowned and Tetsuya was unsure if it was from the growing crowd or because he was going to have to divulge his personal information. “What did you find out?”

                This time it was Tetsuya who frowned. “Not much. Whoever set this up—and I assume it was a setup,” he continued at the Foundation leader’s grudging nod, “was pretty thorough in the removal of evidence. There really wasn’t much to go on. In fact, I’d have to say we were pretty lucky to have made it here when we did. If Kaoru-san’s team hadn’t been monitoring the phones of every authority station within 700km, we probably never would have made it.”

                Kyoya wasn’t pleased by this, but was rational enough to except it as fact.

                “Kyo-san?” Tetsuya hesitated for a moment. “What exactly happened? As far as we could tell, you took out two locations in Las Vegas and returned to the air strip, but never took off. From there we tracked the call you made to a diner 48km down the road from the airstrip. After asking around a waitress said you had left with a trucker.” He paused when Kyoya only continued to listen, although he scowled at a loud protest from the reserve owner, “Kyo-san?”

                “What?”

                “About that waitress…”

                Kyoya narrowed his eyes, “What about her?”

                Tetsuya quickly decided not bring it up, “Nothing. Uhm, right well we found the report of the incident with the trucker, we confirmed your presence when we found traces of your blood,” at Kyoya’s raised eyebrow, he tacked on, “we’ve taken precautions to foil that particular evidence.”

                Kyoya nodded in acceptance.

                “We were able to track your movement to a small town where an elderly man running a gas station reported some sort of attack involving men in suits. After that, however…we lost you.”

                Kyoya was silent for a long moment, almost as if he were hesitant to say his next words. “I traveled here on foot. I was pursued for most of it and then I lost them— _scavengers_ —“his lip curled at the word, “just on the outskirts of the reserve, near the highway.”

                Tetsuya nodded in confirmation, but his eyes were studying his superior. He recalled quite well the injuries Thompson-san had described and he was quite suspicious, even Hibari Kyoya shouldn’t be on his feet that quickly. However, before he could question the former prefect, a sharp cry rang out and Tetsuya was immediately drawn from his thoughts when Kyoya suddenly flinched and clenched his right hand. Kyoya glared at the origin of the sound, the rather angry and obviously pained woman as she fought to snatch her wrist back from the medic treating the ragged tears that her flesh had sustained, yet Tetsuya was hadn’t taken his eyes off of his boss, or rather he hadn’t torn his gaze from Kyoya’s cloud ring. He remembered when Kyoya had figured out how to revert it from the Vongola bracelet as he refused to wear the largely noticeable accessory on school property and as it was he still had to alter the school rules in order to allow rings. It hadn’t pleased him to do it, but even he knew by then the importance of the ring. And right now, Tetsuya could just barely see a faint purplish haze drifting off the piece of Vongola inheritance. _Why would he still be generating a flame? …and one so small? Unless…._ Tetsuya jerked his head up to meet Kyoya’s annoyed stare. He’d obviously noticed what had held his attention. “Kyo-san…you didn’t,” he trailed off with a question, but already knowing the answer.

                Kyoya didn’t answer; he only glared and silently commanded him to drop it. Tetsuya frowned, but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, “about your injuries?”

                “They’ll be tended to later.” Kyoya’s response was quick and final.

                Tetsuya gaped for a moment, but accepted his words with a resigned nod. Before he could change the subject, however, he was interrupted.

                “Hibari-san, Tetsuya-san,” each greeting was followed by a quick bow before the operative gave his report. “We’ve begun extracting the bodies. We uncovered two animal boxes, four weapon storage boxes, and five average grade rings: cloud, rain, sun, storm, and lightning. Amongst the bodies we also found two animals. Given the nature of this reserve and the manner of their deaths we’ve determined that it’s best to remove the wolves from the property so as to avoid suspicion from any possible authorities.” The Vongola member had been quick and precise in his delivery and despite speaking entirely in Japanese, his loud voice had drew the attention of the woman and Kyoya was annoyed when she seemed to recognize something in his speech.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                Charlie was gritting her teeth and just barely keeping herself from mauling the man who placated her with broken English as he bandaged up the most noticeably prominent of her injuries. “A Minute, jus’ one more.” He gave her a smile, hopeful that she understood him.

                She scowled and looked away, tuning him and his work out. She wasn’t really home, when she noticed them. A decently large group of men had stepped out of the forest, each wearing gloves and all of them dragging bodies. She narrowed her eyes at the sight and chose to ignore the morbid truth of the scene unfolding in front of her and instead she focused on the fact that they were different from Kyoya’s workers. Unlike the group that had accompanied the Kusakabe guy, not all of them were of Japanese origin and several of them looked American, although of various ethnic origins. She watched as one of them, a man who looked as if he were part Japanese himself, broke off from the group and headed over to Kusakabe and his bastard of a boss with purposeful steps.

                She hadn’t intended to listen in, but it’s hard to ignore a loud person in a forest clearing where loudest sound competing was the strained grunt of laborers. And even then, she excused herself, you couldn’t really be counted as eavesdropping when you didn’t actually speak the language. Or at least that was mostly true. Her father had spoken the language fluently and as such she’d picked up a few nuggets of knowledge, mostly greetings, both respectful and informal and a handful of obscure vocab words. There was however one particular word that she could say in five different languages and therefore hearing it Japanese made her snap her head over to them quick enough to nearly give herself whiplash. Ookami. Wolf.

                She wasn’t stupid. The group the man split off from was working to remove the bodies from the woods and he just happened to go report to his higher ups and mention wolves? Charlie was on her feet quicker than the medic could account for and he just barely managed to stumble back before her head slammed into his chin. Kyoya was giving her a look of ill-disguised annoyance as she marched up to the three of them, but she ignored him and instead turned her attention to Kusakabe, who she’d noticed immediately, was the more diplomatic of the two. “Leave them.”

                Tetsuya blinked in surprise, “Na-…” he cleared his throat as he prepared himself to switch back to English, “I’m sorry, but…leave what?”

                “The wolves.”

                “Oh, I see.” Tetsuya gave her an odd, but appraising stare, “I didn’t realize you spoke Japanese—”

                Charlie made to cut him off, but Kyoya beat her to it, “She doesn’t.”

                She narrowed her eyes, but ignored him a second time, “I don’t.” She spoke as if Kyoya hadn’t said the words at all and she tuned out the sound of his snort. “I’m just familiar with a few words, but that’s not important. Leave them.”

                Tetsuya’s stare turned to one of understanding as he took in her determined expression. “Ms. Thompson, due to the nature of their deaths, it’s in the best interest of your reserve and likely your job for us to simply remove them from the premises.”

                “No. I’ll take care of them.”

                “Bullet wounds will look suspicious especially when coupled with the multiple gunshot reports called in to the authorities.”

                She frowned, but didn’t allow that to deter her, “I know what they’ll be looking for. I’ll take care of it.”

                When she continued to stare up at him stubbornly, Tetsuya sighed, “At least let us bring them to the cabin—“

                “No. Leave them where they are.”

                This time Tetsuya gave her a disbelieving stare and part of him wondered if she was intentionally being difficult, the other part was beginning to see how she’d survived a week with Kyoya, which of course made it all the more miraculous that _he_ hadn’t been the one to injure her. “They aren’t anywhere near the cabin, Miss. They’re deep within the woods—“ He was cut off again.

                “ _I know._ I know where they are. I know _exactly_ where they are.” Her tone was grave and Tetsuya would be a blind fool not to notice the pain spreading in her gaze.

                He had just opened his mouth to debate further when Kyoya cut in, “Leave them. If she says she knows where they are, then she knows where they are.”

                Tetsuya turned at Kyoya’s unexpected interjection, “H-hai, Kyo-san.”  He shot a look to the mystified Vongola member who had been watching their volleying conversation with a look of bewilderment. “You heard him.”

                “Yes sir.” He gave a short bow to Tetsuya and followed suit with Kyoya, “Hibari-san,” and quickly made his way back to his group.

                Tetsuya looked back at the woman and had expected her to seem relieved, perhaps even contemplative; instead he balked at the intense stare she was giving his boss. She seemed to have given up on ignoring him. The stare was muddled with so many emotions; Tetsuya wasn’t sure which one was dominant and was concerned when Kyoya met the stare blankly.

She clenched her jaw as a look of dawning realization colored her expression; the look was mirrored by her grey eyes. “It’s your fault, you know. It’s _all_ your fault. If I...,” she swallowed thickly, “If I hadn’t saved you…then… _Dakota_ ….”

 A new emotion was beginning to surface in her gaze and before Tetsuya could identify it, Kyoya spoke, “Then maybe you should’ve done the smart thing and just left me.” His tone was coarse and agitated, something that surprised the second in command. Kyoya was often accused of things and it was in his normal behavior to either ignore them or simply smirk in amusement.  He’d never seen him so annoyed at having a finger pointed at him; in fact he’d never seen him so irritated without attacking or at least threatening violence, even in the last few years.

Turning to look at reserve owner, Tetsuya nearly tripped over his own feet as he backpedaled a step or two. Whatever emotion that had started to make its way to the surface had obviously gotten lost on the way, because there was no way that the vehement glower that was directed in Kyoya’s direction belonged to any other emotion besides anger.  She scowled and her lip curled in disgust, “You—”

“Me?” Kyoya spoke calmly, his expression cool, but the provocation was clear.

Tetsuya knew it was coming as her rage seemed to pour off of her, but still, like just about everyone else within the clearing he’d gawked unabashedly at the sharp sound of flesh impacting flesh that rang out.

“Get the fuck off my property, Kyoya. I better not find you here, again, because if I can’t leave you to die next time around… _I’ll kill you my damned self_.” She spat her last words viciously and walked back to the cabin with a furious march.

Slowly, Tetsuya turned to look back at the man who was known for terrifying full grown mafia men just by sheer mention of his name. Kyoya had remained staring in the direction the surprisingly strong slap had snapped his head to for a long moment and when he turned back to stare at the woman who had dared hit him and then walk off like it was within her right to do so, Tetsuya froze. He took in the intense and pointed gaze and the small but barely there curve in the corner of Kyoya’s mouth and suddenly he felt worried for the woman. Tetsuya had only ever seen that look induced by one person and that person was Sawada Tsunayoshi. So when the expression abruptly faded so quickly it seemed as if it was never there, only to be replaced by a narrowed eyed glare and an annoyed scowl, Tetsuya quickly let out a sigh of relief.

The action drew Kyoya’s attention and he turned to his second. “Did you find any leads?”

He couldn’t help it, he stared, all but lost by the swift change in topic.

“Tetsu.” Kyoya glared at him. He didn’t like repeating himself and wouldn’t hesitate to brain his longtime subordinate if he couldn’t pull himself together.

“Ah,” he cleared his throat and quickly recalled Kyoya’s question. “No, nothing worth mentioning. As far as we can determine this was likely an attempt to weaken the Vongola by attacking you. We don’t believe this attack had anything to do with Foundation or our research.”

Kyoya nodded at his words, “Yes. I had already assumed as much when…” he scowled and trailed off as he noticed the medic attempting to speak up. “What is it?”

“Uhmm,” he looked nervously between his two superiors.

“I don’t need a medic so if that’s what this is about, leave.” Kyoya all but threw the words at him.

The medic swallowed and was beginning to sweat nervously, but he shook his head.

“Is this about Thompson-san’s injuries?” Tetsuya, always the more tactful one, asked.

“Yes!” The medic was relieved, but quickly tensed and quieted at Kyoya’s look of agitation.

“Is something wrong?” Tetsuya prodded, hoping to draw his attention.

“…well, I’ve done all I can, but I was only able to treat the flesh wounds. Thompson-san has what I believe may be several hairline fractures along the radius and ulna of her right arm, just above the carpals and what I’m sure are a few severely bruised, if not cracked ribs. There’s also what appears to be some type of lightning flame related venom sting in her upper back between the shoulder blades. Unfortunately, without the proper facilities or equipment, there’s nothing else I can do.”

Kyoya scowled, annoyed that he was interrupted for this. “The cabin has a medical facility in the rear.”

Tetsuya shook his head. “Most if not all of her equipment was ruined in the gunfire. We’re still cleaning up in there.”

As if on cue, the woman’s voice quickly came shouting from the house, “Somebody get this goddamned body _off_ my living room floor!”

Kyoya rolled his eyes before turning to look at the medic pointedly.

“Eh? …what? …wait…me?” The medic asked cluelessly.

When Kyoya raised an eyebrow at his questioning, he quickly stopped, “Yes sir,” and ran off without another moment’s hesitation.

“Tetsu…”

“Yes, Kyo-san?”

“Are we prepared to leave?”

“Shortly; I only need to make a phone call to confirm the jet will be ready to go, but provided we leave Vongola’s men to finish the body removal and minor repairs, we should be ready to go within the hour.”

Kyoya nodded, “Do it.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                Tetsuya frowned when he dialed the number again, eager to be done with this particular business, so he was relieved when they finally picked up on the fourth ring of his third call.

                The voice that answered was severely out of breath, “Uh….uhhh…airstrip?” The voice was faintly familiar despite the frequent pants interrupting it, “This…this is the airstrip. Uhm, this is Joey?” Joey was obviously unsure of what to say.

                Tetsuya’s frown shifted to confusion as the recognition of the voice clicked with the addition of a name—Joey—the new hire who’d been painting the building. “Joey…I wasn’t aware you worked in the office.”

                “Ah! Oh, I don’t. Don’t I know you? ” He seemed almost relieved that he knew who he was speaking to.

                “Yes, we met a few days ago when I asked you about a jet, but you said you had just gotten the job recently.”

                “Oh yeahhh.” He could almost imagine him nodding along.

                “…listen, Joey? Is there anyone around?”

                “Ohhh, well no. That’s kinda why I’m answering the phone. George left out like an hour ago and Chris—”

                “Chris?” Testuya cut in.

                “Yea, the guy who’s normally in the office around this time. He’s running late, I think.”

                “You think?”

                “Uh, well, yea…I just got in the office a minute ago. I haven’t had time to find out anything, besides it’s not as if anyone would actually tell _me,_ they’re running late. I just run maintenance.”

                Tetsuya sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

                “I mean…is there something _I_ can do for you?”

                Tetsuya blared at the forest floor, “I was calling to see if my jet had left yet.”

                “The luxury one?”

                “Yes.” Tetsuya tried not to get too hopeful.

                “Hmm, ya know I think that one left like two hours ago.”

                “You think?”

                “…Mmm, hold on…let me see if he wrote it down…”

                Tetsuya frowned as he listened to papers shuffling about. “You were there two hours ago?”

                Joey’s voice was distracted as he answered, “Well, yeah. I told you, I’m a night shift worker normally. I don’t do well in the sun. Pale skin, ya know?”

                Tetsuya only grunted over the twig in his teeth.

                “Aha! Let’s see…it looks like it left out at about 3:45am to…Bert Mooney Airport…where’s that?”

                “It’s not important. Anyway thank you, that’s all I wanted to know.”

                “Oh.” The mild surprise was evident in his tone. “Well, alright. If you ever deal with us again, make sure you tell the higher ups that I went above and beyond my job!” The tone was jovial despite the seriousness of his words.

                “Sure. Thank you again.”

                “No problem.”

                Relieved, Tetsuya headed back to the cabin, by passing the few remaining foundation members and the Vongola cleanup team. He’d left Kyoya napping in the car.  He knocked lightly on the cabin’s front door before entering. The noisy creak of the hinges told him it probably didn’t see much use—not surprising considering most of the business seemed to be conducted in the rear of the building. Despite the loud noise, she hadn’t budged an inch. The second in command let out a long sigh. It was both a sigh of agitation and relief. While he’d have preferred to conduct his business in person, he was rather relieved he wouldn’t have to talk to her face to face. Not after the results of his last conversation with her. The image of Kyoya’s sharply turned head would remain with him forever. And even more memorable was the bruise the action had left behind. Of course, it helped that it was still present on Kyoya’s face.

                Shoving the disruptive thoughts from his mind, Tetsuya walked over to the twin sized bed shoved into the corner, up against the wall and stared down at the woman lying in it. She was for all purposes dead to the world, resting on her back, her injured wrist lying on her stomach. Tetsuya continued to watch her for a moment longer before letting out a resigned sigh and reaching into his pocket to pull out a small gold signet ring, a yellow stone embedded in its center.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                Two hours later, Kusakabe Tetsuya was beyond grateful to be several thousand feet in the air and on his way home. He’d had enough of America for the time being and if he had, he _knew_ Kyoya had. Still, Kyoya didn’t look very pleased as Tetsuya gently pushed the steady stream of Sun flames from his box. He fought the urge to scowl back at him. The technique that Kyoya had used was entirely experimental— _still in the theoretical stage really_ —and even then it had only ever been intended for short term usage not to completely heal oneself and go into an all-out battle. It was during times like this that Tetsuya truly hated that he served under such a stubborn man. The technique in particular utilized the propagation qualities of the Cloud flame to temporarily clone the healthy cells in one’s body—a rather proactive, but still temporary band-aid really. But, of course, Kyoya had to overdo it.

                Not only, had he _healed_ himself fully and maintained the technique for several hours if not longer, but he'd also utilized his flames for battle. Truly, it was a wonder he made it to the jet before his wounds started reopening. Tetsuya stared at him intensely and tried not to glare as Kyoya seemed ignorant of his annoyance. Instead he was fiddling with his Vongola ring and staring intently at a strange cut the circled his middle finger just beneath the band. An odd place for an injury, Tetsuya wondered if it was a side effect of the technique. Still, Tetsuya quickly decided it wasn’t worth his time or effort to heal it, he had much bigger injuries to worry about. He almost wished he hadn’t used his flames on the civilian woman, as he was barely keeping up with Kyoya’s rate of blood loss.

                But then, he’d remember the way she’d looked when she stepped out of the forest into the light of day and decided that he did the right thing…even if it did cost Kyoya several risky hours of unconsciousness. When he’d done all he could to close up his most dangerous injures, Tetsuya stood and sunk into the chair on the other side of the cabin. He watched Kyoya fiddle with the ring for a few minutes before speaking up. “That woman, Thompson-san…”

                He noticed Kyoya stop fiddling with the ring, but he didn’t look up.

                “It’s a shame really that a civilian had to be exposed to such things. I wonder if she’ll recover.”

                Kyoya didn’t respond for several long seconds, but when he spoke it wasn’t what Tetsuya was expecting. “That _woman_ ,” he lingered on the word with such dislike, Tetsuya wondered if woman was his actual intended word, “is not a civilian.” He then turned away from the ring to gaze out the window.

                His let the statement dwell in his mind for some time before deciding he couldn’t decipher just what the Foundation head had meant by it. Looking up at him to question him, Tetsuya immediately stilled his tongue. He’d finally fallen unconscious. He sighed and prepared himself for a long, quiet, and hopefully uneventful flight.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                The moment she realized she had drifted off she jumped to her feet and nearly stumbled back onto the bed for it. Instinctively she threw her hand out to catch herself. A split second after she had, she winced and prepared herself for the pain that was surely to come as she’d stupidly used the hand belonging to her injured wrist. The pain, however, never came. Charlie blinked and allowed herself to sit on the bed. She looked at her wrist and found it still bandaged. It didn’t feel like the mangled wrist she’d fallen asleep to. Turning to look back over her shoulder, she noted that the sun had risen much higher in the sky and that it had to be around noon. Getting to her feet, with no chance of falling this time, she took in her cabin. It looked like it always had, but there was just something not right about.

                Before she could continue to search the room, her eyes landed on a folded piece of paper lying innocently on her night stand. Plucking it off the wooden surface, she unfolded the uppermost portion and began to read:

 

                _Ms. Thompson,_

_It is with my most sincere apology that you and your residence have suffered the events of the last few days. While we cannot return everything that was lost to you, we have and will attempt to do our best to repair everything to its previous state…provided, of course that you keep the happenings of the last 24 hours to yourself._

               

                She snorted _. Oh yea…like anyone would believe her, anyway_. She continued to read the note.

               

                _At the bottom of this letter, I have written a phone number for you to call when you’re ready to have the complete repairs done. For now we have only given covered up the damage so as to avoid suspicion._

                She narrowed her eyes at the wall on the other side of the room and noticed that a few spots were darker than the rest of the room.

               

                _However, if you have decided to decline our help, I have also enclosed a check with an amount equivalent to the estimated damage, there is however room for error. In the case that you do decide to accept our help, you are also welcome to the funds for whatever purposes you wish. Consider it payment for your care of our mutual associate._

               

                She snorted at that one, but unfolded the bottom half of the letter and barely caught the check before it fluttered to the ground. Her eyes bugged at the sight of the amount. Sure it wasn’t like she was suddenly a millionaire or anything, but who the hell threw around that kind of money? She frowned then, as her mind immediately answered her question for her: _career criminals of course._ Sighing she read the rest of the letter.

 

                                _I also took the liberty of healing your wounds._

 

                She blinked.

                               

                                _While there was nothing too severe, I figured it was the least I could do for your troubles. Again, I must ask that you do not reveal what has taken place in these last 24 hours and I ask that you dispose of any suspicious evidence lying around—this letter included. Should anyone question the source of the funds, the check is already noted as being a donation, please refer to it as such._

 

                She looked back at the check noticed that sure enough it said it was a donation in the note section and even more interesting was the name at the top of the check: _Namimori Foundation._              She quickly finished reading the note.

 

_It is my hope that you are never burdened by such a happening again, but should you have any problems of this sort, please refer to the same number._

_-Kusakabe T._

_(213)586-XXXX_

                Charlie stared until she was looking through the letter. She didn’t really know what to think at this rate. She’d taken in and essentially nursed some type of mafia member…probably Yakuza actually, he was after all Japanese back from the brink of death. And in return…what did she get? _A shitload of trouble._ Her reserve was shot up to hell, she nearly died numerous times in one night, had …she had _killed people_ …and worst of all…the one companion she had left… _she’d lost him_. She clenched the letter tightly in her grip and just barely forced herself not to bawl it up. She tried not to think about how he was just lying out there in the forest…waiting for him to put him to rest. She turned her thoughts to her _payment._ He’d _healed_ her. _Just fucking healed her…how the hell was that even possible?_ Her mind flashed back to all the strange things she’d seen the previous night and she shook the thoughts away and decided she simply didn’t want to know.

                Pacing into the kitchen, she saw that everything had been returned to its rightful place. Kusakabe had even seen to returning her firearms that would have been lost to the woods. He’d placed them on the kitchen table just as she asked. She lingered for several minutes… _procrastinating_ …putting off the _inevitable_ and letting her mind wander as she searched for something she seemed to have forgotten. She had just walked into the study, past the chair where Kyoya had sat calmly, wearing…

                She blinked. _…wearing her father’s suit. That bastard! He was still wearing her father’s suit!_

                “HIBARI _FUCKING_ KYOYA!”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                Out in the woods there was a sudden shudder from the pine tree canopies. A flutter followed the noise, followed by another… _then another_ …and then there was an abrupt echo of numerous flutters and the image distorted. What was once the unmarred view of tree tops was suddenly a swarm of thousands of moths, each one trailing a wisp of indigo light on its wing tips.

                “Ughh,” There came a grumpy sound. “… _loud_ woman.”

                A figure was lounging on a branch thirty feet up in the air, in the vicinity of the once hidden scenery. The figure shifted and groaned as he cracked his back. Reaching his fingers into his shirt pocket he pulled out a cellphone and dialed a number he knew by heart.

                “…it’s me.”

                “He got away.”

                He flinched at the sudden loudness that came from the phone as he pulled it away from his ear.

                “Calm the fuck down.”

                He scowled at whatever response he received. “ _Please_ …just because I didn’t rush to my death like those idiots doesn’t make me useless. In fact, I daresay it makes me the smarter one.”

                He snorted. “No, trust me. I don’t know what he did to himself, but by the time we arrived, we were incapable of defeating him, at least not one on one—that much I know for sure.”

                “Hah! As if that would work. Those prideful amateurs couldn’t work together if their life depended on it…and what do you know, _it did_. _Besides_ , I told them not to go.”

                “The only decent one was Yui and he was just toying with her.”

                He scoffed, “Frankly, you should just be happy that you have someone to give you a report!

                “Tch! Put the boss on the phone, asswipe!”

                He was quiet for a long moment.

                “No, sir.”

                “For the most part it was just Hibari.”

                “There was a woman, Charlene Thompson, I believe, she owns the reservation that he took refuge on. I’m guessing she also patched him back up.”              

                “Well yea…”

                “Mmm…She’s a decent shot, but that’s about it. Hell, the only reason she accomplished what she did was because no one took her seriously.”

                “Do I think she’s a threat?”  The male scratched at his skin. Napping in a pine tree hadn’t agreed with him and he plucked at the fraying name tag on his faded blue coveralls to distract himself from the sudden need to scratch. He really needed to change out of this thing. “Tch, not at all.”

                “Keep an eye on her?” He turned green eyes in the direction of the cabin, his sandy blonde hair falling in his eyes. Annoyed by the loose strings, he finally tore the name tag free from the uniform and stared at the name of his previous alias. “Sure. No problem.” And ‘Joey’ hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, The Nature of the Beast comes to an end. ...but, don't fret. Charlie and Kyoya return in the sequel "Tooth and Nail," soon to be posted. Some of you may have noticed this fic is also posted on FF.net. Why, yes...yes it is. I'm branching out.
> 
> On that note, I should let you all in on a secret...this fic, it's sequel, and several other fics that will be posted in the future are all apart of a larger "verse" that I've titled the "Blood Ties"-verse....(I have my reasons.) So, in the future you may notice some OCs and plot lines crossing in and out of each other.


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